Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Good night, Garak. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Doctor Bashir said.

“Indeed. Good night, Doctor.” Garak watched Bashir step out of his sleeping-quarters, talk briefly with Nurse Patel – too quietly to overhear – and exit his quarters.

Garak set his book on the table beside his bed. Surprisingly, this one had the potential to be a truly delightful story, filled with fascinating descriptions of plants, gardens, and Human culture – as inexplicable in the story, apparently, as it was on Deep Space Nine.

It might provide a plethora of topics to debate and, perhaps, argue about.

Yet the time was late, and he was tired.

He should sleep – or at least try to do so.

He would have time to read on the morrow, after finishing the day’s work – perhaps during the time he was no longer required to reserve for counseling sessions.

He should be delighted to be free of the counseling sessions. He certainly did not require them.

Even Counselor Telnorri agreed.

No. He agreed merely that he would no longer mandate the sessions. He did not say you don’t require them.

Garak sighed. He’d completed all of the Counselor’s accursed questionnaires, yet accomplished nothing other than convincing Telnorri he wasn’t currently a danger to himself or to others – which was no accomplishment at all, as he was, in fact, not a danger to himself or others. Not at the moment.

The Counselor still believed he required counseling. He insisted that he could help Garak regain his independence.

He is correct about one thing – you have not regained your independence, Garak reminded himself, though he had not forgotten.

He had not yet successfully effected everything he needed to do within a day without at least one of his caregivers assisting with something he should be quite capable of doing independently.

And with something he should not require at all.

Doctor Bashir removed his implant almost two months ago, by the Federation calendar – yet he still relied on triptacederine and hydrocortiline not only to stave off the headaches, but to get through the day.

“Garak?”

He looked up.

Nurse Patel was standing there, at the threshold to his quarters.

“Yes?” Garak replied shortly.

“I’m going to have a cup of tea. May I get you a cup?”

“No. Thank you. I … I believe I shall retire for the night.”

“All right. Please remember to log your evening medication if you've not yet done so.” 

“Obviously.” Garak attended to hygiene, changed into clothes-for-sleep, and checked on his plants, ensuring that each had suitable levels of soil moisture.

When he finished, Nurse Patel was sitting nearby, reading something on her padd.

Deliberately, Garak took out his logbook, seated himself on his bed - within her line-of-sight - and recorded the time, type of medication, and amount of both of the evening medications Doctor Bashir had provided to him.

He finished, put away the logbook, and glanced at Patel.

She inclined her head approvingly – though he had done nothing that merited approval.

You finished your psychological exam, Garak reminded himself. He did not want to talk about that.

“Good night,” he said, quickly.

“Good night, Garak,” Patel replied – without bringing up the evaluation, or the termination of mandatory counseling, or anything else entirely unsuitable for discussion.

Garak returned to his sleeping-quarters, lay down, pulled up the blankets, and closed his eyes.

Yet he found himself entirely awake.

Replaying the Counselor’s unfortunate words.

“I am going to end the mandatory counseling,” he’d said – but he hadn’t stopped with that. “I am also going to record my strong recommendation that you continue to participate in counseling,” he’d gone on. He’d not insisted that it be daily, or that the time-slot remain the same – but he’d made it clear: he thought Garak wasn’t ready to stop the counseling sessions – and he recommended that the caregivers continue to maintain their current schedule and level-of-care.

There had been nothing Garak could say.

Telnorri wasn’t wrong.

He hadn’t yet gained his independence.

He hadn’t recovered from the failure of the implant. His head ached more often than it should, despite the medication he still depended on.

And not only to stave off the headaches.

The caregivers offered the medication precisely when it was most logical for him to take it: upon rising, at midday, and before retiring for sleep, as well as prior to expected physical activity.

And also when they saw him fail to hold his place.

That, of course, was the worst of it.

He had failed to hold his place before, far too many times.

That was, after all, why Tain had given him the implant in the first place. Yet it had been years since he’d failed to hold his place. Several tens of years, actually.

Garak hadn’t realized, before, how much he’d relied on the implant to do so.

Now, without it, it was obvious. Things he’d been doing for years without difficulty – riding on the turbolifts, eating meals at the Replimat despite the crowds, walking through the crowds on the Promenade – had become … much less feasible.

Even his work – he knew it wasn’t only the headaches that limited his vocational accomplishments.

He needed to begin opening his shop to his customers on a regular basis – and he needed to maintain regular hours.

Despite the incontrovertible fact that the majority of his customers and potential customers were Bajora – and many of the Bajora were former terrorists. Among those who were not, many had worked in the labor camps. They, too, held a grudge against Cardassians – and he was the sole Cardassian residing upon the station.

A perfect target for people who wished to avenge themselves.

People who – many of them – served the station as engineers and maintainance workers.

People for whom creating a … malfunction … of a turbolift would be, at most, a few minutes’ work – though the repair might take substantially longer – potentially leaving him trapped within for much too long; far beyond his current tolerance, such as it was.

The very idea made his breath come short, his heart pound, his chest begin to ache.

He was not surprised to see the walls begin to shift ominously closer.

He tried to ignore them.

Tried to think, instead, of the Arboretum, the plants he and Professor O’Brien would soon be planting, garden-beds they would build.

Eventually, the air returned. His heart returned to a more sensible rate. The ache in his chest faded.

Garak closed his eyes, and waited for sleep.

Chapter Text

He was alone. That much was obvious.

But where?

Garak scented the air and looked around – to no avail.

He was indoors, in an empty room with no view of the outdoors.

Completely alone.

Not even a regnar or a plant was there.

Only himself.

Alone, somewhere.

Yet he was supposed to be somewhere specific, was he not?

He didn’t know where, but he knew that.

He was supposed to be doing something.

But what?

His work! Of course! He was supposed to be doing his work!

Garak looked around again.

He was in his shop, surrounded by stacks of clothing and fabrics and padds. They covered his worktable, the desk, and the floor.

He had time enough to complete his work. He was no longer required to attend counseling sessions.

He picked up a garment and got to work.

None of the stitches held.

The garment drifted away.

He grabbed for it, but it remained out of reach.

The Arboretum, Garak. You can work there, now. The plants surely will not hinder your work.

Garak stepped out of his shop into the crowds filling the Promenade – soldiers and overseers, workers and merchants, Dabo workers and cleaning-crew.

He took the stairs and exited at the correct level. He walked down the corridor to the Arboretum, opened the door, stepped inside.

The Arboretum was filled with plants – all in pots.

All awaiting transplant into their respective garden-beds.

That, he could do.

Garak picked up a shovel and a potted plant, and got to work.

He transplanted one plant after another.

The garden-beds filled with thriving plants.

And the rows of potted plants-awaiting-planting grew.

They filled the room – wall to wall and floor to ceiling.

He looked at his chronometer.

19:34.

He was late for his session!

It was time to return to his quarters.

He left the Arboretum and walked to the stairs – without success.

The stairs were gone.

A turbolift stood in their place, waiting for him.

Its door was already open.

Garak looked inside the gaping hole.

“There’s plenty of room. There’s plenty of air.”

He stepped inside.

The door shut.

The cabin entered the dark shaft.

Trapping him, alone, inside.

The walls spun towards him.

Pushing the air away.

Preparing to crush him.

Garak tried to open the door. Tried to push the walls away.

They didn’t respond. They pressed closer and closer.

“Garak? Garak!” they called.

No. It wasn’t the walls. It couldn’t be the walls.

It was a person.

Someone nearby.

Garak opened his eyes and sat up.

Nurse Patel sat there, spinning slightly in the chair nearest his bed.

The turbolift cabin was gone.

The turbolift shaft was gone.

He was in his own sleeping-quarters. Its walls were shifting about alarmingly, but they weren’t spinning directly toward him.

They weren’t pushing away the air.

There was more than enough air.

Except there wasn’t.

And he didn’t know why.

The walls weren’t moving.

Perhaps it wasn’t them.

Perhaps he’d taken too much triptacederine again.

But Nurse Patel was there, with her medical kit.

She had Tri-Ox – but she wasn’t offering it to him.

And she wasn’t pretending to read.

She was looking at him, and talking.

Her voice was calm and gentle.

Quite unsuitable.

He glared at her, and hissed.

“You’re safe, Garak. It’s just me. Nurse Patel. Can you hear me?”

“Of course I can hear you,” Garak snapped.

“Good. You’re here in your quarters, Garak. With your plants, and with me. Nurse Patel. Can you smell us?”

Garak scented the air.

Yes.

She was there, as was he. His plants were there, too.

And there was plenty of air.

Of course there was.

The plants would not allow any alternative.

It was quite ridiculous to think otherwise.

Garak glanced at Patel, and nodded abruptly.

“Good. Thank you for letting me know. What else can you smell?”

He scented the air again. “There is no one else here.”

“True.”

“There is … there are of course plants. And … and hair oil, and scale oil, and … green tea, and Terran hair-cleaner.”

“That’s right. The hair-cleaner is called ‘shampoo’ – and you’re probably smelling the lavender. It’s a Terran plant; its flowers are used for its relaxing scent.”

“It’s not effective,” Garak complained.

Aloud.

“Perhaps not, but if the residual scent of lavender-scented shampoo were strong enough to be effectively relaxing from a meter or two away hours after the shampoo has been rinsed off, it would have to be an exceptionally strong chemical – which would probably be rather unpleasant, and not at all relaxing, when first applied.”

“You may be correct,” Garak acknowledged.

Patel inclined her head.

Garak looked around his sleeping-quarters, feigning intense interest in his plants.

The walls were shifting only slightly now, and they stood essentially where they belonged.

He could get himself up. He could get ready for the day, go in to his shop, and get some work done until it was time to join the Professor in the Arboretum to add the living-soil to the otherwise-completed garden-bed.

And he could work for as long a time as he wanted to work – so long as the Professor was willing to continue working.

He did not need to return to his quarters by 19:30.

He had no counseling session today.

None.

He was quite certain of that.

Counselor Telnorri told him, just the day before.

He said he was signing the form to release him from mandatory counseling.

He was still recommending counseling, and he was still recommending that his caregivers remain for a few more weeks.

And then he would be on his own.

Which is of course as it should be. You do not … you should not require the services of caregivers.

You have had quite enough time already to recover from the failure of the implant and the surgery to remove it.

If only that were true.

Garak slumped back against the wall beside his bed.

He knew it wasn’t true.

He couldn’t even manage his medication himself, or walk by himself to his shop.

Perhaps he could walk to the Arboretum by himself. That, he hadn’t yet tried.

And even if he barely managed it, there was a hygiene chamber there.

He could take as much triptacederine as he needed, there.

Garak stood, carefully.

The walls remained steady.

He walked to the door.

“Garak, excuse me for just a moment.”

Garak sighed, and turned back. “Yes?”

“You might want to consider preparing yourself for the day before going out and about.”

He looked down at himself.

He was still wearing his clothing-for-sleep.

No doubt, his hair was in need of combing, and his scales in need of cleansing and oiling.

Useless, Garak. You cannot even get yourself ready for the day without a reminder. What are you, a young child, not yet of the age for the beginning of education?

A young child who cannot so much as express appreciation for assistance offered and given?

Well. That he could do.

Even though he wanted to return to his sleeping quarters, pull up his blankets, and take a few tens of cc’s of triptacederine.

“Thank you,” he said instead. He didn’t quite manage to look at Patel, and his voice was barely loud enough to hear.

“You’re welcome,” Patel replied before he could repeat himself at a more suitable volume.

Garak inclined his head and returned to his sleeping-quarters.

He did not return to his bed.

He did not cover himself with blankets.

He did not take a single cc of triptacederine.

Instead, he selected the day’s clothing and turned toward the hygiene chamber.

The walls of his sleeping-quarters shifted ominously toward him.

The water will be hot. The water will be delightfully hot. The plants will provide plenty of air, he tried to reassure himself.

Without as much success as he would have liked – but the walls stilled.

For the moment.

“Garak, there’s rokassa juice on the table, if you’d like some,” Patel called out.

She was correct.

A steaming cup sat on the table – and the air smelled of rokassa juice, as well as the green tea Patel was drinking.

Beside the cup of rokassa juice lay two hyposprays.

“Thank you,” Garak said. He put down his clothing, seated himself at the table, inhaled the steam, sipped the juice.

Patel finished her tea and set the cup down.

And then he set the cup on the table and picked up the first hypospray.

Hydrocortiline.

Which was of course perfectly suitable.

He administered it quickly, and picked up the second hypospray.

It was triptacederine.

Extended-release triptacederine.

Which wasn’t at all suitable. It would not take effect quickly enough. He needed to get ready for the day, and that would be entirely impossible after taking only the hydrocortiline and the extended-release triptacederine.

It won’t take effect at all if you don’t actually take it, he chided himself. He administered the hypospray.

It didn’t help.

There still wasn’t enough air.

The walls continued shifting toward him.

His heart was racing unpleasantly.

Which wasn’t good.

“Garak, would you tell me what you’ve got planned for the day?” Patel asked.

Garak scowled. The question was hardly appropriate! Answering the question as asked would inevitably lead to further questioning. Even if he instead answered the intended question – what, specifically, was it he had planned for the day – he did not know whether she was asking simply so she would know whether or not they would be going to his shop, the Arboretum, or neither, or both – or whether she was simply attempting to distract him with conversation.

Regardless, he didn’t yet have specific plans of which to inform her or plans to discuss. He planned to not-attend a counseling session, but a plan of what not to do was not a true plan. Additionally, it was something she already knew.

“Garak, will you please tell me what you have planned for the day? Do you need to check on your plants?”

Well. That was a more suitable question.

He hesitated for a moment, considering, and replied. “The plants within my quarters, I have already checked on. I intend to check on the plants within the Arboretum. I plan also to work at the Arboretum, and to work at my shop.”

“Excellent! I’m guessing you and Professor O’Brien will add the substrate and soil to your next garden-bed?”

“Yes! Precisely. That is precisely what we will do. Also, perhaps, we will begin the planting of the plants. And also the installation of the liners for the tiny-ponds … that is to say the … ‘water-gardens’ … within the garden-bed.”

“And soon you’ll have a second fully-planted bed.”

Garak nodded.

“Are you ready to get yourself ready for your work at your shop and at the Arboretum?”

Garak froze.

Of course he was ready! He was quite capable of getting himself ready!

He just needed to enter the hygiene chamber first, and then the shower.

He was quite capable of doing so.

And the shower would be … pleasant. Completely pleasant. The water would be hot, and the air not so dry as the air outside of the shower.

“Garak, will you tell me what you need to do in order to get ready?”

Garak frowned at her. “Attend to hygiene and put on suitable clothing. Obviously.”

“Yes. That’s right. And before that?”

Triptacederine. I need the proper triptacederine. He didn’t say so aloud.

But asking for help is a ‘useful skill’, according to Heyns and Telnorri. Patel no doubt agrees.

Even the accursed questionnaires agreed.

Well. Patel already knew of his weakness. Perhaps it would not be unsuitable to show his weakness in such a way as to show a willingness to do as they suggest.

Not often, of course. But … from time to time.

“Might I trouble you for the … morning triptacederine? The … not extended-release?”

“Of course.” Patel took out a hypospray from her medical kit, replaced the vial within, and looked at him. “How much do you require?” she asked.

Garak hesitated. He should not require any. His head ached only slightly. His back and his legs did not ache at all. They were merely somewhat uncomfortable. And he certainly should require no medication at all merely to prepare himself for the day.

“Five cc, perhaps?” Patel suggested.

Five cc won’t be enough!

Well. He couldn’t admit to that.

He looked directly at Patel, and nodded.

Patel adjusted the setting, handed Garak the hypospray, and nodded to him.

Garak checked the setting.

It was, indeed, set to administer five cc.

Garak administered the medication, without adjusting the amount to a somewhat more reasonable dose.

“If you’ll let me know what you’d like for breakfast, I’ll get it ready while you get yourself ready,” Patel offered.

“I’m not hungry.”

“In that case, perhaps something you particularly like; something you’ll be willing to eat a bit of before walking to your shop.”

“Hot cocoa.”

“You can’t exactly eat that. How about a cup of strawberries? They’re good with chocolate; they should be good with hot cocoa.”

Strawberries? He had heard the word before, but he could not recall having tried the food.

He shrugged.

“Have you tried strawberries before?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I have heard the word. I do not know by name whether or not I have tried them.”

“I believe I understand. You don’t know the fruit by name, but you may perhaps have tried them if they were mixed within a prepared salad or other dish?”

Garak nodded. “Perhaps.”

“How about I replicate a few? You can eat them if you’d like; if you don’t like them, I’ll eat them.”

“Perhaps later. If you prepare hot cocoa now, it will no longer be hot by the time I am ready.”

“I’ll wait a bit. If you let me know when you’re out of the shower, that would probably be a suitable time.”

Garak frowned. He didn’t want to take a shower. Five cc would not be …

Stop, Garak. The shower … the water will be hot. It will be pleasant, and hot. “Yes. That would be … suitable. I thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Garak picked up his clothes and made his way to the hygiene chamber. The shower will be pleasant. The water will be hot, he told himself, repeatedly, as he walked, with limited effect.

Garak entered the hygiene chamber, shut the door behind himself, set his garments on the dressing-table, and hung his tunic on the rack. “harit hithU he’harit bel’vesU,” he said aloud.

The water will be hot, and the water will be pleasant.

Before he could change his mind and exit the unpleasantly small chamber, he removed his clothing, adjusted the water – which was indeed hot – and stepped inside.

Deliberately, he left the shower-door open. He washed himself, including his hair, as quickly as possible.

The water remained hot, and pleasant, yet he was glad to step out, to finish dressing himself, and to exit the hygiene chamber.

The scent of hot cocoa and another scent – unfamiliar, but pleasant – awaited him.

Garak set his sleep-clothes aside, and approached the table.

Nurse Patel looked up from her padd. “I hope you don’t mind, Garak, but I took the liberty of replicating a plate and cup for you when I replicated my own breakfast.”

Garak inclined his head. “I thank you. And I … apologize. I … seem to have not informed you of the … information you requested.”

“That’s okay,” Patel said, smiling at him. “I am curious what you’ll think about the strawberries.”

Garak took a seat and looked at the fruit on the plate before him. It was a dark red in color, similar in shape to the stylized image Federaji used to represent a drop of water, but inverted, and round rather than pointed at the tip. The outer surface was covered in tiny yellow-tan objects he assumed to be seeds.

He picked one of the fruits up and scented it.

The scent was not strong; somewhat like a leaf or grass.

Apparently the scent he had detected before was that of the interior of the fruit.

Cautiously, he bit off the end of the fruit.

The scent and taste alike were quite pleasant; sweet, but not excessively so.

Patel mentioned the taste was pleasant with cocoa.

He sipped his cocoa and took another bite.

It was … quite pleasant.

Garak looked up at Patel.

She was watching him, an eyebrow raised inquiringly.

“An excellent suggestion indeed. I thank you,” he said, inclining his head politely.

She smiled, and Garak turned his attention back to his meal.

Chapter Text

Keiko listened to Molly read.

The story of Inala and the Hara Cat was familiar; Molly could probably ‘read’ it without the book. Yet she was following the text, and turning the pages at the correct time. Even if she were reciting some of the words from memory, she was also looking at the words … and she was reading.

Molly turned the page, and continued:

“She told me when the Strangers came close,” Inala said. “We hid in a tree until they left, and they didn’t see us!”

“You and she acted wisely,” Mother said. She turned to the hara cat and bowed. “I offer to you my gratitude.”

The hara cat looked at Mother, acknowledging her words.

Molly turned to the next page.

Keiko quickly checked her chronometer; she still had a little more than half an hour before she was scheduled to meet Garak at the Arboretum; plenty of time for Molly to finish reading.

“You’re supposed to listen, Mommy!” Molly reminded her.

“You’re right, Molly. I’m sorry. I am listening now – and I’ve got plenty of time to listen to the rest of the story.”

“Okay.” Molly turned back to the book, and started reading again.

“Her name is Have’ra,” Inala told her, for the hara cat, despite her youth, was already a skilled guardian very like her namesake, the warrior who guarded the gateway to the village of Janir.

Mother smiled. “Welcome, Have’ra,” she said. “Inala, if she is to join our household, she will need a place to sleep.”

“I will bring one for her,” Inala promised. She took Mother’s saw from its hook and walked into the wood, away from the place at which she and Have’ra had seen the strangers.

Have’ra led the way. She stopped beside a colony-tree of many trunks and branches, and settled onto one.

“Is this to be your sleeping-place?” Inala asked.

Have’ra looked at her and chittered in affirmation.

Inala inclined her head. She took the saw and began the cut.

Have’ra jumped down.

Inala cut through the selected trunk.

She took out her water-carrier and poured half of the water within over the tree’s roots. “I thank you for providing for Have’ra. Please accept this water as an expression of my gratitude,” she told the tree.

The tree and the soil beneath accepted the water.

Inala carried the piece-of-tree home and placed it beside her sleeping-place.

That night, after the sun began its time-of-rest, Inala climbed into her bed.

Have’ra curled up on the upper branch of the tree-bed beside it.

Side-by-side, they slept, preparing themselves for what the next day might bring.

“The end!” Molly announced. She set the book down and picked up another. “Now it’s your turn to read, Mommy!” she announced.

“Not now, Molly,” Keiko said. “You just finished reading a book.”

“I read Inala and the Hara Cat,” Molly said. “Now it’s time for you to read Inala and a New Friend!”

“I’ll read it this evening,” Keiko promised. “But now I’m going to the Arboretum.”

Keiko hoped she and Garak would have the opportunity to work there for a few hours, but Garak’s shop had been closed the previous day, and Keiko was fairly certain he’d honored his promise to Molly to take the day off.

It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he would have tried to make up for his day off by going in to his shop early, and overdoing things.

It was also entirely possible that he’d instead honored the spirit of Molly’s request, and allowed himself to take the day off without putting in extra time – and without overdoing things – the following day.

Most likely, he would want to at least check on the plants at the Arboretum, even if he could not work.

“In the meantime – ” Miles started to say.

“Can … I mean, may I come, too?” Molly asked at the same time. “Please? I want to help plant flowers!”

“Not today, but you may help plant flowers on another day.”

“But why can’t I help plant flowers today?”

“Because Garak and I won’t be planting flowers today. We’re going to add the soil to the new garden-bed, and install the liners for the water-gardens within it,” Keiko replied.

“I can help with that!”

“Not this time, but you may help build some of the smaller garden-beds, later. I’m not sure if we’ll have a chance to start planting today – but I promise I’ll let Garak know that you’d like to help when it’s time to plant more flowers.”

“I don’t have to plant flowers! I can plant other plants! I can even plant trees, if they’re little trees. Maybe I can plant cherry trees! Because they have flowers!”

“You’re right, Molly. They do. But the garden-bed Garak and I are building now is in the Tropical Room. It will be warm all year there, and cherry trees need a cold season to produce fruit.”

“Oh.” Molly frowned, and then she brightened. “I know! We can plant bananas! And mango-trees!”

“Those are excellent ideas! Why don’t you suggest that to Garak, the next time you see him? Just in case I forget?”

“Mommy, that’s silly. You won’t forget.”

“You’re probably right. But would you like me to wait so you can ask?”

“Okay! And I’ll draw a picture of a banana plant and a mango-tree, because maybe Garak doesn’t know what they look like, because they don’t grow on Deep Space Nine yet, and bananas and mangos are from Earth, and I don’t know if Garak visited Earth before.”

“I don’t think he has. He hasn’t mentioned it. And you’re right – he might not know what banana plants or mango trees look like. He probably hasn’t seen them, except perhaps in pictures or holo-programs.”

“I’ll draw a banana plant with bananas on it, and I’ll draw mangos on the mango-tree. That way he’ll know what they are!”

“That’s a good idea. Will you show me after I come home?”

“Yes.” Molly took out a blank sheet of paper and started drawing.

“That’s an excellent idea,” Miles told her. “And if you’d like, I can read to you after you finish your picture.”

“Okay, and you can read while I’m drawing!”

“Absolutely!” Miles picked up the book and sat next to her. He smiled at Keiko. “Go, Keiko. We’ll be fine, and we’ll see you this evening.”

“All right. Thank you, Miles.” Keiko put on her boots, grabbed a pair of gloves, and headed to the Arboretum.

* * *

Keiko opened the Arboretum door and stepped inside.

Garak was already there, examining the plants within one of the crates and talking with Dezi, who was also peering intently inside the crate.

Dezi saw her and inclined his head in a Cardassian-style greeting.

Keiko returned the gesture, but she didn’t speak up.

She could wait for them to finish their conversation.

“This frond, its tips are … somewhat dry,” Garak was saying.

“I can see that. What would happen if it did not receive water soon?”

“The tips would become brown. I … I would prefer to not demonstrate this.”

Dezi chuckled. “Of course not! Shall I bring the spray bottle or the watering can?”

“The spray bottle will suffice. The soil already is sufficiently moist. It is the … humidity that is too low.”

“All right.” Dezi went to get the spray bottle.

Keiko called a greeting to Garak.

Garak looked up and inclined his head. “Good day, Professor,” he replied.

Keiko joined him at the crate. “Molly asked me to let you know she wants to help plant flowers and other plants, when the time comes.”

Garak stared at her. After a long moment, he looked away, but Keiko was sure she’d seen a hint of a smile. “That would be … most welcome,” he said. “Please give to Molly my thanks, and please tell her that her assistance will be … very much appreciated. When the time comes.”

“I will. Thank you, Garak.”

Garak inclined his head.

He looked up when Dezi returned with the spray bottle.

Dezi offered the sprayer to Garak.

Garak accepted it, and carefully sprayed every frond.

After he finished, he set the spray bottle nearby and examined the plants once more.

He nodded, satisfied, and turned to Keiko. “Are you ready to begin?” he asked. “That is to say, are you ready to begin the … the adding of the soil to the garden-bed?”

“Absolutely ... or, on second thought, should we first mark where the bog garden containers will go?”

“‘Bog garden containers’ … ah. You are referring to the rigid-liners for the saturated-soil sections of the garden-bed?”

“Exactly. For the plants from Ferenginar.”

“That would perhaps be best.” He turned to Dezi, but he didn’t speak. He just looked at him, somewhat uncertainly.

Dezi smiled. “I’ll leave the two of you to it,” he said. “I’ve got a letter from my cousin I’ve not yet had an opportunity to read. I suspect she will be telling me – in great detail – about her expectations, and her children’s, for their next session at school. They’ll be returning from the summer holidays soon!”

Garak smiled. “When you reply, kindly give to her my greetings.”

“I shall. Thank you, Garak. I’ll be in the Temperate Room, should you wish to show me your accomplishments within this room prior to returning to your quarters.”

Garak inclined his head. “I shall.”

Dezi smiled. He took his padd and exited the Tropical Room.

Keiko pulled up the plan for the first bed on her padd, took out a piece of chalk, and offered it to Garak.

He shook his head slightly, and reached inside his pocket.

Keiko didn’t recognize the device he took out – but its purpose became obvious as Garak aimed the device at the wall, examined the readout, and gestured toward a spot within the garden-bed.

“There,” Garak told her. “The first … bog garden … will be there.”

Keiko checked the plan.

He was correct.

Keiko climbed into the bed and roughly marked the outline of the first container.

Garak nodded approvingly, and gestured to the second location.

Keiko marked it as well, and then the third. That done, she climbed out of the garden-bed and went to get the lifter and the first crate of soil. Carefully, she lowered the crate onto the wall, and moved the lifter aside.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Garak stand and walk over to the tools.

He was moving slowly and carefully, but his gait was steady, and he didn’t hesitate before selecting a rake and a shovel and bringing them over to the new garden-bed.

Keiko opened the lid of the crate. “Garak, will you do the honors this time?” she asked.

Garak stared at her.

Keiko waited.

After a moment, Garak nodded. “Certainly, Professor,” he said. He turned to the crate and scooped up a handful of soil. He examined it carefully, sniffing as well as looking at it and feeling the texture. “It is an excellent living-soil, Professor,” he reported.

Keiko leaned close and inhaled the fresh scent of good soil. “I agree,” she said.

Garak nodded, and turned back to the soil. “I, Elim Garak, welcome you to The Arboretum, Botanical Garden, and Community Gardens for the Peoples of Deep Space Nine,” he said solemnly. Slowly, he sprinkled the soil into the garden-bed. He turned to Keiko and inclined his head.

Keiko took a handful of soil. “I, Professor Keiko Ishikawa O’Brien, welcome you to The Arboretum, Botanical Garden, and Community Gardens for the Peoples of Deep Space Nine,” she said, and poured the soil.

She looked over the garden-bed for a moment – at the stone retaining-wall she and Garak had built, and at the sprinklings of soil within. The first garden-bed she and Garak had prepared had taken several hours to fill – in part because of their extensive ceremonial welcoming-of-soil, and in part because of the deliberately slow pace of work she had set to reduce the likelihood of Garak doing more than he was physically capable of doing at the time.

Perhaps this time, too, she should initiate an extensive –

“Shall we proceed, Professor?” Garak asked.

Startled, Keiko looked at him.

He was watching her – and he was holding one side of the crate of soil, already prepared to pour it into the bed.

This time, let him set the pace, Keiko decided. You can always suggest a break for some tea if he starts to look as if he needs a break.

“We could – unless you think we ought to welcome the soil one handful at a time,” Keiko said.

Garak chuckled. “That would be acceptable if you deem it necessary,” he offered. “However, this is not the first garden-bed of The Arboretum. Perhaps … welcoming the soil one crate at a time might suffice.”

“That works for me,” Keiko assured him. She took hold of her side of the crate, and they began to pour in the soil.

Chapter Text

Professor O’Brien set the next crate upon the garden-bed wall, moved the lifter aside, and waited patiently for Garak to return with the rake he had located and taken from one of the crates-of-tools.

Garak leaned the rake against the garden-bed wall, unlatched the lid of the crate, and removed it.

He took one end of the crate.

The Professor took the other without hesitation.

Without … examining him.

Without attempting to determine whether or not he was capable of completing the work entrusted to him.

You are quite capable of doing so, Garak assured himself. He had successfully assisted with the adding of the soil to the first garden-bed of the Arboretum without difficulty.

To be sure, he had not worked quickly or efficiently, but that had been in part because they had taken the time to welcome the soil with perhaps a somewhat longer-in-duration ceremony than that which might be expected.

She will begin to examine you at any moment if you don’t begin to work, Garak chided himself.

Deliberately, he looked at the sand. It was not living-soil – but it, too, was to be a part of the garden-bed. It would function suitably as the base upon which to rest the container he and Professor O’Brien were going to install for the soil-that-was-to-remain-wet. The … ‘bog garden’; that was the name the Professor gave to it.

The garden-section for the plants from Ferenginar.

“Welcome,” Garak said.

The Professor inclined her head. She, too, welcomed the sand.

Together, they poured the sand into the garden-bed. It did not enter directly into the demarcated outline of the first of the bog gardens; they did not have sufficient reach to pour the sand directly into its final destination.

Yet it was not far.

The Professor lifted the empty crate down to the floor.

Garak climbed into the garden-bed, took the rake, and moved the sand into the demarcated outline.

The Professor did not wait for him to finish, watching him too closely, waiting to determine whether or not he would require assistance merely to climb over the low wall of the garden-bed.

Instead, she activated the lifter and brought the next crate of sand over to the section of the garden-bed wall closest to the location-to-be of the second bog garden.

Garak climbed over the wall and removed the lid of the second crate.

Together, he and the Professor welcomed the sand and poured it into the garden-bed.

The Professor left the crate in its current location, upon the garden-bed wall. She climbed into the garden-bed and pushed the sand into the proper location.

Garak did not allow her to not-permit him to work. He was perfectly capable of working.

He lifted the empty crate to the floor, activated the lifter, and brought the final crate of sand over to the correct section of the garden-bed wall.

The Professor climbed over the wall and removed the lid of the crate.

She and Garak welcomed the sand within the final crate, and poured it into the garden-bed.

Garak moved the sand into place, and waited within the garden-bed.

The Professor brought the containers for the bog garden to the wall. One at a time, she lifted them over the garden-wall, allowing Garak to set them in place and ensure that they were level.

“That looks good,” the Professor told him after he adjusted the sand slightly and reset the final bog garden container.

Garak inclined his head. “Indeed.”

The Professor’s words were accurate; the bog containers had been placed properly.

However, the garden-bed itself still looked, to his eye, more ‘incomplete’ than ‘good’.

There were many more crates to transport; much more living-soil to add.

Also, of course, it would be necessary to transplant each plant into the garden-bed, except for those which would be grown on site from seed.

That, however, would be a project for another day.

A project for a day on which Molly would be available to assist with the work.

A day that will approach sooner if you complete a substantial amount of work today, Garak reminded himself. He climbed out of the garden-bed, and went to get the next crate.

* * *

The work of adding the soil to the garden-bed was progressing at a suitable rate. Garak and the Professor had completed the adding of approximately one-half of the necessary soil for the garden-bed, and they had compacted the soil surrounding the first two bog-garden containers sufficiently to ensure that each container would remain in place.

If they continued to work at the current rate-of-work, they would complete the adding of the soil within … perhaps somewhat more than an hour.

Yet Garak found himself tiring.

His head did not yet truly ache, but the … slight discomfort already was rather unpleasant.

He could use triptacederine, but he could take none without the Professor noticing.

Even if he entered the hygiene chamber ostensibly to clean his hands, she would know his actual reason for entering the small room.

That would be entirely unsuitable.

It would be equally unsuitable for him to stop the day’s work before completing the adding of the soil to the second garden-bed.

Yet the Humans – including Professor O’Brien – seemed to think it entirely suitable to allow for brief periods-of-respite prior to completing even simple tasks such as the adding of soil to one relatively small garden-bed.

Furthermore, they considered the offer of a beverage to be a courtesy, even when the timing was illogical.

The Professor, Garak suspected, would know exactly why he was offering a beverage before their work was done – but she would not mention his reasons. And she might appreciate the offer.

If he followed the Human custom now, perhaps his head would not begin to truly ache quite so soon.

Perhaps not until after he and the Professor completed the adding of the soil to the garden-bed.

“Garak?” Professor O’Brien asked.

Garak sighed. He had delayed too long; she had already noticed his weakness.

Yet perhaps she might accept that he had simply been … considering the possibilities.

“Would you care for a cup of tea, Professor?” he asked, rather than replying to her unstated query.

“That would be much appreciated, Garak. Thank you.”

Garak inclined his head. He made his way to the hygiene chamber, leaving the door open so the Professor would hear the water with which he cleaned his hands.

The walls promptly began to close in on him.

Garak tried to ignore them.

He cleaned his hands, dried them, and emerged as quickly as possible into the Tropical Room. “What kind of tea would you prefer?” he asked, scowling at the slight tremor in his voice.

The Professor hesitated. “Hibiscus-mint would be perfect,” she said.

“Certainly.” Garak made his way to the replicator.

Professor O’Brien stepped into the hygiene chamber, no doubt to clean her own hands.

Garak froze. He could not see her now – and she could not see him.

If he were to take the triptacederine now, she would not know.

He did not need to take much.

Perhaps only a few cc’s.

Just enough to stave off the headache.

Just enough to ensure that the walls remained as they should.

They had already begun to shift about.

Garak reached inside his tunic.

The hypospray was there.

And then the door to the hygiene chamber opened.

The Professor stepped outside.

Garak withdrew his hand.

He had delayed too long.

That is for the best, he told himself. You do not require triptacederine. You have already taken quite enough.

Except he hadn’t. Already, the walls were shifting ominously closer.

Taking away the air.

Already, the air was not quite sufficient.

“Of course it is sufficient. There is more than enough –”

“Garak?”

He looked up.

The Professor stood nearby. Observing his weakness.

“Go away!” he snarled. “Leave me alone!”

“All right. Do let me know if I can be of service.”

The Professor walked away.

Exactly as he’d told her to do.

She did not walk far.

She walked only a few strides away, and seated herself upon the floor.

He wanted to snarl at her, and drive her further away, but the walls were closing in on him.

He couldn’t move.

He couldn’t breathe.

The walls – at any moment they would crush him.

The room was darkening.

“Garak, would you sit down for a moment?” a distant voice said to him.

Sit down … yes. He could do that.

He sat. The room, it was freezing. His heart, it pounded in his chest, as if he had been running up into the Kova’ari Mountains.

Voices spoke.

“Breathe,” one of the voices said. “Slowly.”

Yes. To breathe – that would be … suitable.

Garak closed his eyes. He tried to breathe slowly. Tried to follow the pattern-of-breathing Mila taught him at Bamarren.

He managed a breath. And another.

“Garak. You are safe,” one of the voices said to him. “You are in the Arboretum, with me – Keiko O’Brien. Nurse Heyns is here, too.”

Wonderful. Now he could not so much as work in the Arboretum without medical attention.

“We are working on a new garden-bed, Garak. We’re adding soil. It’s an excellent living-soil. Can you smell it?”

Garak opened his eyes.

The room was somewhat brighter, now.

The walls continued to shift toward him – but they no longer loomed quite so close.

Yet his heart continued to pound unpleasantly.

The air – it was present, but it was not sufficient.

And the room was freezing; cold enough to make him shiver involuntarily.

Professor O’Brien was not shivering.

She was sitting, quietly, nearby.

She was not looking at him with pity.

Nurse Heyns also sat nearby.

His medical kit was in front of him, and it was open.

But Heyns was not holding a hypospray. He instead sat as for meditation, breathing slowly and steadily.

Allowing Garak to regain his place.

“Can you smell the soil, Garak?”

It was the Professor asking.

Not his caregiver.

Try, Garak. You’ve already demonstrated weakness. Surely you are capable of at least attempting to regain your place.

Without triptacederine.

Of course, to regain his place with triptacederine would be better.

No. Merely easier. To request the medication would show far too much weakness.

To regain your place with only the Professor’s assistance-with-words – that would be preferable.

“Garak, I can smell fresh soil. Will you smell it as well?”

Garak glanced at her.

He scented the air.

He smelled his own alarm-scent, and the scents of the two Humans seated nearby.

And he smelled the fresh scent of living-soil.

“Yes,” he said. His voice was barely audible, and it trembled.

He scowled.

He tried again.

This time, his voice was somewhat louder, and more steady.

“It is indeed good soil,” the Professor said.

“It is.”

She nodded, and sat.

Quietly.

Breathing slowly and steadily.

Garak tried to match her breathing, or perhaps the breathing-pattern Mila taught him.

He could not.

His breathing was too quick, too shallow.

The air – it was present, but it was not enough.

He closed his eyes and tried again.

“Garak, would you tell me the name of the bog garden tree you’d mentioned before? The one from Ferenginar?”

Yes. To answer a question … yes. He was certainly capable of doing so. “It is named … kiprae-snail plant.”

“Ah, yes. Thank you, Garak. And there are a few other plants of Ferenginar we’ll be planting, too.”

“...Yes.”

“Could you tell me their names, please?”

“Yes. The … krosha. It is a … plant to cover … the ground. And the … the limaxa. It is … it produces … a fruit. An edible fruit.”

“You said it’s similar to kiwano-melon?”

“Yes. It is similar in size. The texture, it also is … similar. It has also the spikes … perhaps more, and perhaps … somewhat longer.”

“Does it taste similar?”

“There are different … varieties. With some, yes. The … taste is similar.”

Garak opened his eyes.

The walls again stood where they belonged.

There was plenty of room in which to move.

The Tropical Room was, in fact, quite large.

It was filled with air.

It was filled, also, with the scent of rokassa juice.

Garak looked down.

A cup of steaming rokassa juice sat beside him.

Garak grabbed the cup and lifted it.

His hand shook.

But the cup, it had been only partially filled.

The hot liquid did not splash him.

Yet.

He set the cup down.

“Might I be of service?” the Professor asked.

Garak wanted to snarl at her.

He wanted to tell her he did not require her service.

He wanted to tell her he was perfectly capable of something so simple as drinking juice unassisted.

Yet he could hardly condemn her for wishing to be of service.

To do so would be entirely unsuitable.

Yet he did not need for someone to lift a cup for him as if he were an infant.

Garak shook his head.

“All right,” she said.

That was all.

She did not insist that he accept her assistance.

She did not say to him what it was he should do.

Nurse Heyns also did not do this.

He also sat quietly.

Breathing, slowly and calmly.

Garak closed his eyes.

He tried again to breathe according to the breathing-pattern Mila taught him.

Eventually, he matched the pattern.

The air returned.

His heart slowed to a more suitable rate.

The room no longer seemed so cold.

But his head ached dreadfully, and the walls continued to shift about.

He would not be able, yet, to walk with any steadiness.

He was not ready to be of any use with the adding of soil to the garden-bed.

Yet almost half of the soil remained within crates.

He had failed.

He had not completed so much as one day’s work.

Worse, he had failed to comport himself with even a modicum of courtesy.

He had snapped at the Professor.

Here, within her own Arboretum.

She would not wish to work with someone she could not fully trust to avoid such behavior.

It was only a matter of time until she would tell him she no longer required or desired his services.

Only a matter of time before she told him to leave.

Only a matter of time before she informed him he was no longer welcome within the Arboretum.

Or … perhaps she would not.

He had behaved toward her with a comparable lack of courtesy before, and she had not then condemned him.

She had, instead, forgiven him.

She had instead insisted upon speaking with him.

She had invited him to work with her to develop the Arboretum.

Eventually, she had entrusted him with the responsibility of teaching her daughter the skill of transplanting flowers from containers into a garden-bed.

Perhaps she would forgive him again.

Perhaps he should attempt to make amends.

If he did so, perhaps he would not lose the privilege of working with her.

Garak opened his eyes and turned to the Professor.

“I offer to you my sincere apologies, Professor,” he said.

She inclined her head. “Thank you, Garak. I appreciate that.”

He did not deserve her gratitude, yet he could not condemn her for … courtesy.

He did not know how he should respond.

Perhaps he could begin again to work.

If he were successful, he could perhaps show the Professor that her trust in him was appropriate; that he was capable of completing the work with which she entrusted him.

He could work now.

Perhaps.

The walls stood steady, precisely where they belonged. His head still hurt quite unpleasantly, but somewhat less so than before.

If you took just a small dose of triptacederine, you would be able to work.

Garak shook his head. He needed the triptacederine to ensure that he would be able to work for a sufficient duration-of-time to enable them to complete the bringing of the living-soil into the garden-bed, but to request it would be entirely unsuitable. Already, he had taken an amount that should have been quite enough.

If he requested additional medication, the Professor and Nurse Heyns would know the reason.

That would be entirely unsuitable.

But if he attempted to work without preparing himself with the necessary medication, he might once again lose his place.

He might snap at Professor O’Brien.

Again.

He would not do that.

Yet he did not know what else to do.

Already the walls were beginning to shift about, though he knew they had not actually moved.

Focus, Garak. Mila showed to you what to do. You need only follow his example.

“Monday will be a school day,” the Professor announced. “The students and I will be sharing stories. I think Molly might share a different story this time.”

Garak waited, but the Professor did not continue.

She was, perhaps, waiting for him to decide whether or not to engage in conversation.

“I think it is, perhaps … the story of Inala and the Hara Cat which Molly prefers to share,” Garak said. His voice came out quieter and more tentative than he had intended, but the Professor did not chide him for that.

She smiled. “Exactly! But one of her friends gave her a copy of another book in the same series: Inala and a New Friend. Molly and Miles were planning to read it this afternoon.”

Garak nodded.

The ache in his head intensified.

He closed his eyes, just for a moment. The ache faded, a little.

The Professor was politely not-looking at him when he opened his eyes again.

Nurse Heyns was not.

He met Garak’s eyes, looked pointedly at the medical kit, and raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

“Soon,” Garak said. He turned to the Professor. “Soon, Molly will tell to you her … her …” he stopped and shook his head. “The thoughts she has about the book – she will perhaps … tell to you.”

“I’m sure she will. Molly is quite willing to share her opinion!” the Professor said, smiling.

As if she … valued the trait of communicating one’s opinion.

Including one’s … preferences.

One’s sentiment.

Professor O’Brien looked at him and raised her head slightly, as if she had come to a decision.

“Tomorrow is Sunday. It’s not a school day. Do you think you might have available time in the afternoon to welcome more soil to this garden-bed?”

Garak froze.

Of course she does not wish to work with you now. Your behavior today has been entirely unsuitable.

Yet she was not informing him that his service was no longer acceptable.

Nor was she informing him that he was no longer welcome within the Arboretum.

She was not informing him that his presence was to be prohibited.

Perhaps she was simply providing to herself an opportunity to find someone more appropriate to assist her with the Arboretum.

Or perhaps that was not her intent.

She knew he did not wish to continue working at the moment.

Yet she did not seem to be condemning him for his … dereliction of duty.

She was not reminding him it was his duty to complete the day’s work before allowing to himself a time of rest.

Instead, she was offering to him a … rescheduling.

And she was awaiting his appallingly delayed response with admirable patience.

“Certainly, Professor,” he replied. “Tomorrow in the afternoon would be … quite suitable.”

The Professor smiled. “Excellent! Thank you, Garak.”

“... You’re welcome.”

The Professor checked her chronometer. “I’ve got a few minutes before I’ll need to be returning home. Would you be amenable to looking over the plans before I leave? We’ll have this garden-bed planted within a week, I suspect, and we haven’t really spoken of which project we should address next. Or we could wait until tomorrow, if you’d prefer.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Garak replied promptly. “I would be … honored to look over the plans today.”

The Professor inclined her head. “turessin,” she said.

In Kardasi.

“tas darm’I,” Garak replied.

“I thought perhaps look over the plans for this garden-bed first, just to refresh our memory as to which plants will go where, and then perhaps talk a bit about which project to address next,” the Professor suggested.

Garak did not say to her that no adult Cardassian required a refreshing of memory with respect to the physical location – or location-to-be – of any plant or other object.

Nor did he say to her that the walls had settled themselves exactly as they should, or that his heart and breathing had, at last, steadied.

He did not mention that his head ached somewhat less.

Certainly he did not admit to the apparent reason.

It was excessively sentimental and entirely unsuitable to say aloud.

Instead, he turned to the Professor and bowed. “That would be … quite suitable, Professor. I thank you.”

The Professor smiled. “You’re welcome,” she said. She pulled up the plans upon her padd, seated herself beside him, and examined the plans upon her padd with an intensity and level-of-focus that surely made up for her Human spatial memory.

Garak already remembered exactly which plant they intended to transplant into each location, but that was of no relevance.

More accurately, he remembered which … odric’mitka. In Federation Standard, it would be … species, perhaps. Or perhaps cultivar, if it were a type-of-plant that had been deliberately developed.

He remembered which species and cultivar of plant they intended to transplant into each location.

Yet that was not relevant.

The Professor wished to review the plans, and to discuss the relative priority of the various projects – though whether she wished to review and discuss solely the plans for the Tropical Room or also those of the Temperate Room, he did not know.

Regardless, whenever she was ready to begin the requested discussion, he intended to be entirely prepared to contribute meaningfully to the discussion.

Garak turned to the Professor’s padd, which she was holding in a position that allowed for him to clearly see the screen; he, too, began to look over the plans – for the garden-bed upon which he and the Professor had been working, for the Tropical Room as a whole, and also for the Temperate Room – and to consider options for prioritization.

Chapter Text

Telnorri tapped his communicator. “Telnorri to Dr. Bashir.”

“This is Bashir.”

“Ah. Good afternoon, Doctor. I was wondering if you might have a moment this afternoon for a brief consultation.”

“Certainly. I’m with a patient at the moment – ”

“In that case, I’ll not keep you. Comm me when you have a moment?”

“Of course. Or I can stop by your office after my shift. I’m off in half an hour.”

“That would be perfect.”

“All right. I’ll see you then.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Telnorri out.” Telnorri closed the channel and sat back in his chair to review his notes and consider his options for the evening’s session.

A knock sounded on the waiting room door.

“Please, enter,” Telnorri called.

The door opened, and Bashir stepped inside.

Telnorri stood. “Good day, Doctor. Please, come in.”

Bashir stepped inside. “Thank you, Counselor,” he replied.

Telnorri led the way to his office and gestured toward the chairs and sofa within. “Please, have a seat.”

Bashir nodded, and seated himself in one of the armchairs.

“Tea?” Telnorri offered.

“Please.”

Telnorri replicated a glass of extra-sweet Tarkalean tea for Bashir and one of red leaf for himself. He brought Bashir his tea and took a seat. “Thank you for meeting with me,” he began.

“Of course! It’s not a problem at all,” Bashir replied, though he was fidgeting slightly with his cup in a manner suggestive of at least slight discomfort.

Telnorri lowered his mental shields slightly; as expected, he sensed mild anxiety – nothing beyond what he would expect of any person concerned for the well-being of an ailing friend – and determination. “Nonetheless, it is appreciated,” he said.

Bashir nodded. “You’re very welcome. How can I help?” he asked.

“Garak’s first non-mandatory counseling session is scheduled for tomorrow evening,” Telnorri explained. “There are a few questions I would like to address prior to that session, with respect to his care plan.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. Let’s begin with the easiest topic – his physical condition. I intend to recommend that he begin engaging in regular physical exercise in addition to his regular activities. Ideally, something he might enjoy – or at least with which he will be comfortable. Are there any restrictions of which I should be aware, besides the obvious?”

“No full-contact sports with a high risk of traumatic head injury and concussion?”

“Exactly.”

“Actually, yes. Walking and other low-intensity exercise is absolutely fine, without restrictions, but any sort of high-intensity, high-impact activity is contraindicated, as are exercises that involve rapid changes in posture, due to his orthostatic hypotension. Also, he’ll need to increase the duration of time or intensity gradually.”

Telnorri nodded. “Understood. What’s your take on that? The orthostatic hypotension?”

Bashir shook his head. “It’s hard to say. It could be pharmacological; tapering off the meds could resolve it entirely. I do know it’s not due to underlying cardiovascular disease or anaemia. Garak’s not exactly fond of medical exams, but I have checked his cardiac function when he’s allowed me to scan him, and I’ve run a few blood tests to confirm.

“Could it be neurological? A sequela of the implant and neurosurgery?”

“That’s certainly a possibility. It also could be due to mild dehydration or hypoglycemia; it seems to be worse in the morning, before he’s had a chance to eat or drink anything. However, at this point, it’s fairly mild and easily manageable. My guess is it’ll resolve itself when he tapers off the meds and regains his appetite.”

“That’s going to be a challenge.”

Bashir sighed. “I know.”

Telnorri easily sensed Bashir’s frustration and concern.

“It’s a problem,” Bashir said. “Garak would never admit it, but he’s terrified of the idea of getting through even a fraction of the day with less medication. Cold turkey is not an option.”

“I am aware of that, but let me ask you this: does he still require the opioid to manage post-surgical pain, and perhaps tension headaches, or would you say he’s using it now exclusively to address psychological challenges and prevent withdrawal?”

“Unfortunately, there’s no way to know. He doesn’t seem to have constant headaches anymore, but whether that’s because his post-surgical pain has fully resolved or because he’s taking sufficient extended-release medication to provide adequate analgesia for mild pain, I don’t know. I do know there’s a strong correlation between levels of pain and stress – but whether that’s because he’s susceptible to tension headaches or because his tolerance of stressful situations decreases when he’s in pain – or both – I don’t know. As for ‘psychological challenges’ and prevention of withdrawal – definitely. I’d say those are the primary reasons he’s taking as much as he is.”

“I understand,” Telnorri said. “Ideally, I would like for him to begin tapering the triptacederine now, but I suspect that’s not yet feasible. I’m concerned about his self-medicating. There’s no way to know how much he’s taking – ”

“Not without regularly testing his blood levels,” Bashir interjected. “He wouldn’t agree to that, and I don’t think it would be appropriate to ask.”

“No. It would not. He struggles with trust as it is; it would be best not to tell him we don’t trust him.”

“He knows we don’t trust him. But he doesn’t trust himself, either.”

“I agree. Not when it comes to medication.”

“So what are you thinking as a less-than-ideal alternative?”

“I’m thinking of beginning to comment on specific benefits of lower doses. He knows he ‘should be taking less’, but I’m not sure he knows exactly why. I’m not sure he realizes the medication affects his appetite, or that he’d have more energy if he were willing and able to eat more.”

“Not to mention the possibility of resolution of orthostatic hypotension. Tapering the meds won’t help if it’s neurological, but if it’s pharmacological or due to hypoglycemia, it could … it’s odd, though. In humans, opioid use increases blood sugar levels – though of course how much, and what, the person is eating certainly has an effect.”

“As it does in Cardassians.”

Bashir nodded.

“I also intend to talk with Dezi and Taya about the possibility of implementing a portion of their respective exercise routines during their shifts – walking, stretching, and perhaps some basic strength training exercises would be suitable. I’m unsure as to whether or not he’d be willing to join in, but it would be beneficial to him.”

“That’s true. Especially if it’s something he actually enjoys – or at least doesn’t dread.” Bashir looked away, considering.

Telnorri waited.

“You could suggest that he schedule a physical exam to clear him for such a program. He won’t appreciate the suggestion, but he might agree – and then Dezi and Taya can mention that they know he’s ready to begin exercising, and … and … well, would he care to join them in their exercise routine.”

Telnorri smiled. “That is an excellent idea! Garak would recognize the challenge in my request that he schedule a medical exam. He knows I am well aware of his opinion regarding such exams. Yet he would also recognize that my asking him to take the initiative shows my own belief that he is capable of doing so – thus of course creating a challenge for him to follow through.”

“And if he succeeds at that ...”

“Exactly. He is understandably lacking in self-confidence now. Any challenge posed to him – so long as he genuinely has a choice as to whether or not to accept the challenge, and when – could comprise a valuable opportunity for him to succeed at something, however simple – and something with a definite clarity as to the scope of the challenge. And, each time Dezi or Taya – ”

“Or myself or Jabara,” Bashir interjected.

“Yes. Each time anyone invites him to join in, he’ll have the opportunity to make a genuine choice – precisely as he does now when anyone offers a beverage or a meal. He already understands that those are genuine choices.”

“And when he sees that your suggestion that he exercise – deliberate exercise, I mean, not merely walking to and from his shop or the Arboretum – is not mandatory, he might also become a bit more comfortable with the idea of non-mandatory counseling – and accepting that it really is non-mandatory?”

“Yes. Of course, there’s also the possibility that he’ll decide it’s something he cannot do. He may become upset by the suggestion.”

Bashir shrugged. “That’s probably exactly what’ll happen the first few times ‘exercise’ is suggested. He was in the Obsidian Order, Counselor. I suspect whatever exercises he participated in during their equivalent of Basic Training are extensive, challenging, and well beyond what he can manage at the moment. That’s going to be what he thinks of when anyone mentions exercise. But he will watch.”

“That’s a good point. It might be best to suggest simple walks.”

“He’ll probably agree to that, if it’s to and from the Arboretum. Otherwise, he’ll probably claim he’s got too much work.”

“Most likely,” Telnorri acknowledged. “That is something I’ll address with him – how he’ll begin to have more energy, and thus work more efficiently, once he’s exercising more consistently. And I don’t just mean more often; I mean that literally.”

“You mean, as opposed to going from almost completely sedentary to walking to and from his shop and the Arboretum and working for hours building stone walls within a few days.”

“Exactly. That kind of change – well, you know as well as I do. It’s not exactly setting him up for success – and it’s my opinion that he will need to meet – successfully – a number of relatively simple challenges if he is to regain his confidence – and he needs to regain his confidence if he’s to become willing and able to successfully address the drug use.”

“He won’t regain his confidence until he addresses the drug use.”

“And that is the problem – and the challenge. For attempts to taper, let alone wean him off the medication, to be successful, it will have to be his decision – and it’s not a decision he’s likely to make if he’s convinced he still needs the medication.”

“At this point, he does. He’s not ready to stop the meds cold turkey,” Bashir said.

“I agree.”

“You might want to specify triptacederine when you talk with him about tapering the medications,” Bashir suggested. “I think it’ll be easier for him if he knows you’re not talking about tapering the hydrocortiline at the same time.”

“Agreed. That can come later, once he’s stable off the triptacederine.”

Bashir nodded, but he was frowning.

Even with his shields up, Telnorri sensed his concern. “He’s not going to want to talk about it, you know. The medication, the tapering, any of that.”

“I know. And he won’t have to. Not at first. I intend to ‘just happen’ to comment about the merits of lower doses – and to promptly change the subject. If I’m successful, I will provide him with the information he needs without antagonizing him.”

Bashir nodded. “That could work. But he’s kind of reactive these days.”

“I’ve noticed,” Telnorri said wryly. “However, I’ve also noticed that he is no more pleased with his lashing out than anyone else. He is trying to show restraint.”

“Well, yes.”

“I do have a concern with respect to the tapering of the medications,” Telnorri said. “It’s obviously necessary to address the issue, but I’m concerned that Garak may decide it is his duty to stop taking the medication – and try to stop too quickly. He may, in addition to taking less medication at each scheduled time, attempt to deny increasingly severe pain, and delay the taking of necessary medication. On the other hand, I’m not certain as to whether or not he is experiencing pain severe enough to require treatment with opioids. I suspect he’s requesting the medication more to treat anxiety than to treat pain.”

“He absolutely is, but he’s genuinely experiencing pain, as well. As to the severity, I don’t know. Pain is subjective. But I’m not sure that matters, at this point. Whether it’s physical or it’s how he’s interpreting the effects of anxiety, it’s definitely distressing to him.”

“I am not denying that. What I’m saying is this: in my opinion, it’s time to start encouraging him to begin to taper the triptacederine, but we all – you and I, his caregivers, and Professor O’Brien – must be aware of the risk that he may insist on taking less than he genuinely needs, followed by overmedicating himself if the pain – physical or otherwise – becomes intolerable to him.”

Bashir nodded. “He’s done that before. I’d be surprised if it doesn’t happen again.”

“All right. I will briefly mention the concept of tapering the medication and the merits of taking smaller doses today – assuming he chooses to attend today’s session.”

“Do you think he will?”

“Yes. I suspect he doesn’t truly believe that sessions are now voluntary. He may believe that if he doesn’t attend ‘voluntarily’, I will insist that he attend. In my opinion, he will attend ‘voluntarily’ to avoid anyone requiring him to attend involuntarily. However, I suspect I’ll essentially have to start at the beginning to regain his trust.”

“No, you won’t,” Bashir argued. “He trusts you as much as he trusts anyone.”

“Not with respect to voluntary counseling. He doesn’t know what to expect. It will take time to regain his trust under different circumstances.”

Bashir sighed. “I suppose. Did you read Dezi’s notes from his shift today?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Regarding what happened at the Arboretum?” Telnorri asked.

“Yes.”

“I did. I am pleased with Garak’s willingness to accept Keiko’s support. That bodes well for eventually weaning him off 26/7 supportive care.”

“That’s not what I was referring to.”

Telnorri nodded. “Garak has already had a challenging day. He was exhausted before the day began; that will not have lessened. I hope he will have a less challenging day tomorrow, but there is of course no guarantee of that.”

“What are you planning, for tomorrow’s session? Besides a passing reference to tapering the triptacederine?”

“I plan to offer tea, speak in generalities, and allow Garak to take the lead. If he chooses not to participate, I intend to simply talk – about the Arboretum, gardens, Molly O’Brien’s newfound enthusiasm for gardening, and perhaps about possibilities for sessions. Unless or until he becomes at least somewhat comfortable, I will not ask questions, other than the routine beginning-of-session questions.”

“I understand. Good luck, Counselor.”

Telnorri bowed. “Thank you, Doctor. To you as well; I understand you and Garak have planned to have lunch together tomorrow.”

“That’s right.”

“If I may … I suggest that you, too, allow Garak to take the lead.”

“Ask him if he would join me for lunch, and let him – if he says ‘yes’ – decide where?”

“Exactly.”

“I can do that.”

Bashir took his leave.

Telnorri continued sitting in the chair, finishing his tea and considering.

Tomorrow’s session was sure to be a challenge … but he would be ready.

Chapter Text

Garak glanced at his chronometer.

His first ostensibly non-mandatory counseling session was scheduled to begin in twenty-four minutes, though he still had commissions to complete, garden-beds to design, and a book to read. He had no time for counseling sessions, even if they were certain to be helpful, which they were not – yet if he attempted to cancel the session, he would find out whether or not the session was actually non-mandatory. He suspected he knew the answer already – and it was not a suitable answer.

The session had not yet begun, yet already the walls were shifting around in a most unpleasant manner.

Don’t think of that, Garak told himself. Think of … something else.

Anything else.

There were certainly other things he could think of.

Lunch with the Doctor, perhaps. Bashir had been amenable to eating lunch within the back room of his shop, which Garak knew was the only reason he hadn’t completely lost his place during the meal. As it was, he had been deplorably unsuccessful at contributing in a useful way at all to their discussion of the book he and the Doctor had begun reading.

Yet Doctor Bashir had not complained. He had seemed … pleased … by even the most inane of comments. He had seemed pleased, as well, that Garak had eaten his meal – as if that were some sort of remarkable accomplishment, which of course it was not.

Completing the adding-of-soil to the first garden-bed of the Tropical Room had been a much more useful accomplishment. He would have been pleased – had he not so thoroughly lost his place the preceding time he and the Professor had worked in the Arboretum that, this time, dread of what might happen this time had taken much of his attention.

Yet he had not lost his place this time, and the soil had been added to the garden-bed – including the bog-soil imported from Ferenginar for use within the bog-gardens.

The Professor had been pleased by their accomplishment– yet she had not suggested that they proceed with the planting of even the first of the plants intended for that garden-bed. Instead, she had suggested that they do so on a later day.

Garak knew the reason: she did not trust him to successfully work for a sufficient duration of time without eventually losing his place.

He did not protest or argue. Instead, he agreed to her suggestion.

What else could he do? She was not incorrect; he could lose his place again.

You can address the issue tonight, Garak told himself.

The thought came unbidden.

It was a dreadful idea. To address the issue of losing his place … well. That was the epitome of an unsuitable topic.

It was a topic almost guaranteed to ensure that he would lose his place.

Yet Telnorri had mentioned to him that helping his clients to regain their independence and get back to work were among his duties as a counselor. He had mentioned, as well, his belief that there were certain tasks Garak could not yet do independently in which he believed Garak could easily regain his independence.

The Counselor was probably exaggerating, if not entirely falsifying, his statement – yet the word ‘easily’ was subjective.

Even if the regaining of skills proved difficult, doing so was essential. If Telnorri could, in some way, facilitate the process, that would be useful. The risk of losing his place in the short term certainly was of less relevance than the possibility of an increase in competence, however slight – especially if the increase was in his ability to maintain his place – especially while working with the Professor.

He should address the issue.

He did not know whether or not he could.

Garak’s door chime sounded.

“Who is there?” he asked – as if he didn’t already know.

“It is I. Telnorri,” the Counselor replied.

Garak sighed, but he deactivated the security system and opened the door. “Good evening, Counselor. Do come in,” he offered politely.

Telnorri inclined his head. “Thank you, Garak.” The Counselor stepped inside and nodded a greeting to Nurse Heyns.

Heyns reciprocated, informed Garak of his return within half an hour, and took his leave of him and of the Counselor.

After Heyns closed the door behind himself, Garak gestured toward the chair in which Telnorri usually sat.

Telnorri seated himself.

“Would you care for some tea?” Garak offered.

“I would, thank you. Red leaf would be perfect, if you have it.”

“Unfortunately, I do not. However, my replicator is programmed with an acceptable facsimile.”

“That would be perfect … or, rather, perfectly acceptable. I thank you.”

Garak smiled. ‘Perfectly acceptable’ was not at all an inaccurate description of replicated red leaf tea.

Garak placed two cups on the platform. “Two cups of red leaf tea,” he requested.

The replicator complied.

Garak brought the Counselor his tea, set his own tea on the table, and seated himself. He held the cup, enjoying its warmth and the steam emanating from it.

Telnorri sat in silence as well. Once the tea had cooled to his satisfaction, he took a sip. “This is indeed perfectly acceptable – and rather good,” Telnorri said, once the tea had cooled to his satisfaction.

Garak nodded.

They drank their tea in silence.

Garak brought their cups to the sonic cleaner. He did not activate the device; that could wait until there were more than two cups requiring its services.

He returned to his seat.

“How are you today?” Telnorri asked.

Garak hesitated. This was a voluntary counseling session, ostensibly. He did not have to respond to anything to which he did not wish to respond – yet had not the counselor mentioned, with respect to the evaluation, the concept of ‘hoops to jump through’? Perhaps he should consider responding to such questions with the honesty the Federaji expected as well as appropriate accuracy. If he took the initiative to do so, perhaps the Counselor would not ask of him too many unsuitable questions.

“Garak?”

“My apologies. I was … considering. To answer your question, I am … all right. And how are you?”

“I am well, thank you. I have enjoyed several quite pleasant conversations with clients and friends today, and I enjoyed a quite pleasant dinner at the new Vulcan restaurant. The food was excellent, the facility clean as well as spacious, and the staff and customers alike quite courteous.”

Garak raised an eye-ridge. “You are saying the experience of dining at this restaurant was … not precisely the same as dining at Quark’s facility or at the Klingon restaurant?”

Telnorri laughed. “Not at all the same, actually. However, if you particularly wish for quality gagh, Kytherian crabs, or toasted tube worms, the Klingon restaurant and Quark’s place, respectively, would be quite suitable.”

Garak shook his head. “That will not be necessary – but I thank you for the information.”

“You’re welcome.” Telnorri waited, silently and calmly. He was watching Garak, but his expression was that of mild curiosity and polite expectation – not that of someone evaluating him or preparing to offer thoroughly unpleasant demands.

Telnorri was offering him the opportunity to take the lead in this consultation.

He should avail himself of the opportunity, yet he did not know how. It was certainly not a skill he had been taught at Bamarren – yet had he not learned a similar skill through his training and work for the Order? A consultation was an obtaining of information, was it not? It certainly differed in the specifics, but the general intent was not so very different: it was an opportunity to obtain potentially useful information.

Garak considered his options. He suspected that staring at Telnorri for hours or drawing a knife and moving, ever so slowly, closer to him would be less than suitable in this rather different form of information-gathering in which the person from whom he sought information was in the position of power. Counselor Telnorri could once again require mandatory counseling sessions that were acknowledged to be mandatory, scheduled on a daily basis for a minimum time of his choosing – and Garak knew that was precisely what he would do if he believed Garak to be a, as he said, a ‘danger to self or others’.

Garak did not draw a knife.

Yet knowing what not to do under the circumstances was not of particular use in telling him what he should do instead.

Well. Telnorri would not expect him to know how to lead a Federaji-style consultation.

Most likely, he did not so much as expect Garak to hold his place.

Perhaps, with this particular interrogee, he should provide to him precisely what he seemed to wish for: simple, direct communication. If he did so, Telnorri would, perhaps, reciprocate and provide to him the information Garak wished to obtain – even though he wasn’t entirely certain what, exactly, the information he might provide would comprise.

You never did know precisely what information would be provided by any given interrogee, Garak reminded himself. Nor will you know until you ask.

Garak looked at Telnorri.

The Counselor did not flinch. Nor did he look away. He held Garak’s gaze and waited.

“Perhaps you would be so kind, Counselor, as to tell me what, precisely, a ‘consultation’ of the kind of which you have spoken comprises,” Garak said.

Telnorri inclined his head. “Certainly. A consultation is a meeting in which a counselor, such as myself, exchanges information with a client, such as yourself. Typically, it would begin with an exchange of introductions, though that is unnecessary for us as we already know each other’s names and have previously spoken with each other.”

“I am completely willing to forego that component of this consultation,” Garak informed him.

“As am I,” Telnorri replied. “The second component of a typical consultation varies somewhat depending on the circumstances – namely, whether a client has taken the initiative of seeking counseling for themselves, in which case the client typically begins by informing me of what challenges they wish to address, or whether counseling has been assigned, in which case it is often I who take the initiative by, as I mentioned, introducing myself. How I proceed next varies. Among the ways I have begun such sessions are introducing a neutral topic I believe may be of interest to my client, asking the client how I may be of service, and asking the client to let me know what’s going on.”

Garak looked away. He didn’t clearly remember his initial meeting with Telnorri, but he vaguely remembered the Counselor speaking of plants: a neutral topic of potential interest, no doubt chosen so as to attempt to make a connection, lower his barriers, and increase the likelihood that he would provide the information the Counselor sought.

This time, Telnorri was not speaking of plants, the décor of his quarters, favorite foods, or any other topic of similar intent.

He will, if you don’t demonstrate some competence at participating appropriately in a counseling session intended to efficiently provide information. “My plants and those of Professor O’Brien are well,” Garak informed him. “We have completed the addition of the soil to the first garden-bed within the tropical room. Soon, we will begin the planting.”

Telnorri inclined his head. “That is commendable,” he said. “I understand that the primary infrastructure is also well underway?”

“It is. Yes.” Garak hesitated. In a typical interrogation, he might have attempted to create the semblance of a connection with an interrogee, precisely as Telnorri had done with respect to the Arboretum and his plants.

Yet had not Doctor Bashir done the same with respect to discussions of literature – English and Federation Standard as well as Kardasi – and other elements of their respective cultures?

Had not Professor O’Brien done the same with respect to discussions of – and, eventually, work with – plants and gardens?

Telnorri had given no indication, so far as Garak was aware, of any malicious intent with respect to his search for information.

On the contrary; his behavior was, in some ways, similar to that of Doctor Bashir; he, too, seemed to be an odd Federaji who ‘just wanted to help’.

Perhaps he should offer to him the opportunity to do precisely that.

If nothing else, such a direct question would be sure to catch him off guard – which itself could potentially provide him with valuable information.

Garak put on a predatory smile and intense gaze as if he were still an operative of the Obsidian Order, seeking information from a recalcitrant interrogee. After a moment, he dropped the smile and the intensity of his gaze and replaced both with a mask of benign curiosity. “What might you suggest under the present circumstances?” he asked, as if the question were entirely suitable.

Telnorri maintained the same confident posture and benign expression he had maintained throughout the session thus far. “I would suggest that I begin by enumerating the present circumstances,” he replied.

Garak scowled. “I have hardly forgotten,” he said.

“Nonetheless, I would find it useful to ensure that we are, as the Terran saying goes, ‘on the same page’.”

Garak sighed. “Very well.”

Telnorri nodded slightly. “I appreciate that. Now, I will begin by pointing out that you and I share several … I’ll use the term ‘goals', though perhaps ‘hopes’ or ‘expectations’ might be equally accurate. We may, of course, express them differently, and assign different relative priorities to each, yet the fact remains: we wish for the same, or very similar, results. Firstly, we both wish for enhancement of your continuing recovery from the neurosurgery you recently experienced and the consequences thereof, including the side effects of the medications you have required to effectively manage levels of pain.”

Well. The Counselor was not incorrect about that. Garak did not reply aloud, but he gave the Counselor a slight nod.

Telnorri inclined his head slightly in return. “Secondly: we both hope for you to soon be able to work for the duration and at the intensity with which you were previously accustomed with no adverse effects – but at your avocation of gardening and developing a new arboretum as well as at your profession.”

Garak nodded. He would consider that goal to be that of highest priority, yet he couldn’t deny that the two goals the Counselor had expressed thus far were interconnected.

“The third: for you to regain the independence to which you have been accustomed – though I would add the caveat that no one is, or should be, fully independent within any functioning community. You, for example, no doubt intend to maintain a level of interdependence with Professor O’Brien; you are working together on the Arboretum. Likewise, you maintain a level of interdependence with your customers; you rely on them for your income; they rely on you for skillful repairs of their clothing, various alterations thereto, and the provision of high-quality custom clothing.”

Garak shrugged. “You are not incorrect, yet you have not specified … the entirety of the circumstances.”

“I have not. What I provided was a … summary. Would you let me know what, among those things I excluded, you would consider to be of highest importance?”

“Time,” Garak replied promptly. “I have much work to do now; I cannot wait for …” he stopped. It would hardly be suitable to specify his present limitations – yet it also would not be necessary. Telnorri already knew of his limitations. “I cannot wait for the meeting of any of these goals you have proposed to begin work.”

Telnorri chuckled. “If you could, you would have to have the ability to travel back in time. You’ve already been working at your avocation and your vocation for weeks. You’ve completed a substantial amount of professional work, built two border-walls to surround garden-beds, planned the infrastructure and, on a preliminary basis, the plantings of an arboretum, and planted the first of the beds.”

Well. Telnorri was not wrong about that, either. “True,” Garak acknowledged.

Telnorri smiled. “If you are amenable, I would make a brief proposal with respect to each of the goals I have suggested as well as with respect to the concern of which you have informed me.”

“I am amenable.”

“I thank you.” Telnorri paused for a moment.

Garak waited, allowing him the time to organize his ideas.

“I will address the goals and your concern in the order in which they have been mentioned this evening,” Telnorri said. “The first: your continued recovery.”

Garak sighed. “Very well.”

“Thank you. To facilitate a client’s recovery from any medical challenge or procedure, I find it helpful to know the specifics.”

“You already know the specifics. You have access to my medical records.”

“I do, but I have access only to your current medical records on this station. I do not have access to any medical records that do not yet exist.”

Garak raised an eye-ridge. “Obviously.”

Telnorri shrugged. “If I may address one specific medical challenge I have observed?”

Garak scowled at him.

Telnorri waited patiently with an expression of benign and courteous curiosity.

Garak dropped the scowl. “You may,” he said reluctantly.

“Thank you. The challenge I have noticed is that of orthostatic hypotension. In other words: the tendency to become dizzy or light-headed upon rising, especially when you have been lying down.”

Well. That is perhaps a suitable topic to address. Certainly more so than your tendency to lose your place far too often.

“I have noticed this as well,” Garak acknowledged.

“My proposal is this: that you schedule a neurological exam with a medical doctor; Doctor Bashir, perhaps, or one of his colleagues. They can perform the necessary scans to determine how well your head is healing from the surgery – and they can analyze levels of glucose and of various medications within your blood, perhaps first thing in the morning, as well as evaluate cardiac function and any other factors that might be pertinent.”

He stopped talking, but Garak did not reply. It would be entirely unsuitable to admit that he had not questioned the probable or possible causes of light-headedness or dizziness; he had simply characterized it as yet another of his failings.

“There are different levels of difficulty for such a challenge,” Telnorri continued, without awaiting a reply. “The easiest would be for you to authorize myself or one of your caregivers to schedule such an exam and to permit a doctor to carry out the exam here, within your quarters. A slightly more difficult challenge would be to contact one of the doctors, schedule the exam yourself, and permit the doctor to carry it out here, within your quarters. The most difficult – ”

“Yes, thank you, Counselor. I understand.”

“Clarify for me, if you would be so kind.”

“That will not be necessary.” Garak tapped his communicator. “Garak to Doctor Bashir.”

“This is Bashir. Hello, Garak!”

“Hello, Doctor. Counselor Telnorri has suggested that I … schedule a medical evaluation.”

“Of course. When would be a convenient time?”

“A morning would be preferable. I will be located within the general proximity of your … facility.”

Bashir did not respond immediately.

Garak scowled. He did not wish to discuss the specifics of the exam; Bashir no doubt already knew precisely which tests Telnorri wished to have performed upon him. He certainly did not wish to discuss its location, which he had already implied quite adequately. “I’m available any morning before 08:00,” Bashir said after a moment. “If you’d prefer a later time, let me know the day, and I’ll check my schedule.”

“Tomorrow would be acceptable, if you are available.”

“I am. What time do you usually get to your shop?”

“The time is variable. Typically it is prior to 06:30.”

“How about 06:00?”

That’s a dreadful idea! It would not be at all suitable! The last thing … nearly the last thing Garak wanted to do was submit to further evaluation of his weaknesses, especially within such a public facility as the infirmary.

Yet the time would be early enough that, unless someone had become suddenly ill or injured, the facility was unlikely to be crowded.

“That will suffice, Doctor.”

“Good! I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Indeed. Good evening to you, Doctor.”

“Good evening!”

Garak closed the channel.

“Thank you, Garak,” Telnorri told him.

Garak sighed. “You do not know if the results will be … useful.”

“I do, actually. The results – and of course Doctor Bashir’s recommendations for treatment, if any, based upon said results – will give us an idea of what to address next. At the least, they will let us know whether or not hypoglycemia – low blood sugar – is a contributing factor.”

“Perhaps,” Garak said.

Telnorri nodded. “Shall I address my second goal – increasing your ability to work for the duration to which and at the intensity with which you were previously accustomed?”

“Certainly.”

“Thank you. With respect to my second goal, I have two suggestions which may be of use. The first: I suggest that you prepare yourself for sleep at approximately the same time every night – or as many nights as possible. The routine can facilitate sleep, even if it cannot ensure adequate sleep. Adequate sleep can facilitate one’s endurance, both physical and mental.”

“You are not incorrect,” Garak replied. He could certainly attempt to do so, but he had no intention of committing to doing so.

“My second suggestion technically comprises two suggestions, or perhaps three: establish and follow a regular exercise routine, and log the exercise you perform on a daily basis.”

Garak glared at him. “That is entirely impossible, Counselor! I do not have the time consistently to complete my work! I certainly do not have time – ”

“Excuse me, Garak.”

Garak stopped. He dropped his glare and put on a customer service smile. “Yes?”

“I should, perhaps, explain what I mean, both by ‘exercise’ and by ‘regular exercise routine’.”

“I am familiar with the definitions.”

“Certainly, but the terms are often used differently by different people. A Klingon warrior, for example, is likely to have an entirely different idea as to what constitutes an appropriate exercise routine than a Human shopkeeper.”

“That is not necessarily correct. The shopkeeper may participate in a wide variety of … pleasant activities performed other than for the purpose of work.”

“Hobbies, or leisure activities,” Telnorri offered.

“Precisely.”

“You are correct. However, my point was intended solely as an example.”

“Very well.”

“‘Exercise’, as I used the term, refers to activities performed which have an effect on enhancing a person’s level of fitness – regardless of whether or not the activity was performed deliberately for that purpose. Walking, for example, constitutes exercise whether it is done solely or primarily for the purpose of enhancing one’s level of fitness, for the purpose of reaching one’s destination, or for the enjoyment of the activity. Moving rocks, soil, and plants also comprises exercise.”

Perhaps the Counselor’s suggestion was not quite so unreasonable as it had seemed.

“With respect to ‘regular’, I mean that literally: approximately the same level of intensity and for approximately the same duration over a period of time. I also do not necessarily mean ‘daily’, except that light exercise, such as walking, on a daily basis would not be amiss.”

In other words – don’t go directly from remaining almost completely sedentary, except for relatively brief walks over quite short distances, to working upon the building of stone walls for several hours consecutively. “Your idea … may have merit,” Garak acknowledged.

Telnorri inclined his head. “I thank you,” he said, with just a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

“You are quite welcome,” Garak replied, not masking his sarcasm at all.

Telnorri smiled. “Shall I address my third goal? That of facilitating your work toward regaining your independence?”

Well. That was certain to be a less suitable topic.

Garak glanced at the walls. They wavered slightly, but remained essentially where they belonged, for the moment.

They were unlikely to remain so cooperative were the Counselor to address … certain topics.

He did not want to think of such topics. He certainly did not wish to discuss them.

You are as useless as I knew you to be, Tain’s voice spoke up unhelpfully. If you cannot so much as listen to a suggestion, how do you expect to ever serve Kardassi’ya again?

“I can listen,” Garak said. “That is to say, please, proceed, Counselor,” he corrected himself.

“Thank you. However, I think it might be more useful if I first asked you one question.”

Garak sighed. “If you must.”

“I believe it would be beneficial.”

Garak nodded. “Proceed, Counselor.”

“Thank you. My question is this: would you prefer to begin by addressing a particularly challenging skill that will take some time to regain or a simpler skill you will likely regain quickly?”

“That is hardly … ” Garak stopped. To be sure, he should regain all of his skills – but not even the most competent, or potentially competent, operative could learn multiple skills simultaneously; not unless some of the skills had already been introduced. If he were to start with something that might be, if the Counselor were to be believed, simple, he could perhaps begin the learning of such a skill – and solidify his capability while beginning to work on a more difficult skill. “Perhaps … a simple skill to begin with,” he requested.

“All right. In that case, I would propose that you begin with the skill of time management.”

Garak looked at him incredulously. Certainly the Counselor was aware that the passage of time was immutable and could not be managed?

“‘Time management,’ in Federation Standard, refers to one’s ability to organize one’s schedule so as to allow oneself sufficient time in which to accomplish necessary activities, arrive timely to scheduled appointments, and the like,” Telnorri explained.

“Ah. You are referring to the effective scheduling of one’s activities.”

“Precisely. The reason I suggest this skill is simple: it is one you already possess. You already are aware of time and of the importance of adhering to a schedule.”

“Of course.”

Telnorri nodded. “You have not been utilizing this particular skill of late – except with respect to honoring scheduled appointments – with myself as well as with Professor O’Brien and Doctor Bashir.”

Garak sighed. “You are not incorrect.” He had not opened his shop to customers at the proper time in quite some time. Nor had he consistently adhered to his usual work-schedule. He had, instead, succumbed to the temptation to avail himself of excessive leisure time; sitting under his heat lamp, resting, and consuming beverages despite the time not yet being appropriate for doing so.

“This is my proposal: write your schedule down.”

“That is hardly necessary!”

“I am aware that it is not necessary for you to do so in order to enhance your memory. That is not the reason for my suggestion. Rather, it is this: if you write your schedule – especially if you also show it to someone – Nurse Heyns, Nurse Patel, or Nurse Jabara, for example – you are likely to hold yourself accountable to honoring the schedule.”

“I need not show anyone a written schedule to hold myself accountable,” Garak protested.

“Well, that’s up to you. You don’t need to show anyone anything; that is simply a suggestion. However, if you write down a week’s schedule – including days off from your professional work and days off from extensive physical work within the Arboretum – and including leisure activities such as reading and, in time, availing yourself of opportunities for recreation – participation in holosuite programs, for example, or visits to the Observatory or other facilities upon the station – you will be more likely to allow yourself the time to rest. If you allow yourself the time to rest, you will find yourself less tired. If you find yourself less tired, you will find yourself experiencing fewer, less severe headaches. You will also find holding your place significantly easier. If you find yourself experiencing fewer, less severe headaches, and if you find holding your place significantly easier, you will find yourself requiring less medication to mitigate headaches or to help yourself maintain your place. If you require – and take – less medication, that may mitigate the dizziness and light-headedness you sometimes experience upon rising – either directly or by allowing your appetite to return so as to facilitate the consumption of sufficient food to maintain a suitable blood-sugar level and, thus, level of energy.”

“You are saying … this is … ” Garak shook his head. “There is a Terran game, the pieces of which are sometimes used for a rather silly activity – namely, arranging the pieces in certain patterns so as to enable a person to knock all of the pieces down, systematically, beginning solely with a light tap upon one of the pieces.”

“I would say – not precisely. The game to which you are referring is known as Dominoes; certainly, one small event – the light tap of which you spoke – initiates the collapse. However, I am referring to an activity which will in no way lead to collapse or chaos.”

“On the contrary! With the activity of felling Dominoes, the collapse of the pieces is used not exclusively to cause the fall of the pieces, but in many cases also to form a stable pattern of pieces lying upon a flat surface in a manner similar to the art form known in Federation Standard as a ‘mosaic’.”

Telnorri smiled at him. “It is that which I am suggesting: a simple change of which you are completely capable which will lead to an increase in … ” he stopped and raised an inquiring eye-brow.

Garak sighed. “Stability,” he said.

“Precisely.”

“Very well. I will … what is the saying? To give a try?”

“To give it a try. Yes.”

Garak nodded. “I shall do so.”

“I hope you will also inform me of its effect; whether or not you find doing so useful.”

“Perhaps.”

“There is one more topic to address: your concern with respect to time – and, specifically, the allocation of time to counseling sessions.”

“Indeed.”

“I would suggest this: for this week, we meet every other day to address anything you wish to address – and do not establish a minimum requirement of time for any of the meetings. If you find yourself particularly tired, the meeting could comprise solely of greetings, a few minutes’ discussion, and leave-taking; if you find yourself with much to discuss, the meeting could continue for up to an hour, with the option of continuing longer should that fall within the restrictions of our respective schedules. Of course, meetings such as our prior sessions, for which a specific schedule of time is determined prior to the meeting-time and adhered to, is also acceptable, should that be your preference.”

Garak considered. Knowing what to expect certainly had its merits – but the possibility of shorter sessions would be preferable. “That would be acceptable – so long as it is the time-of-ending, not the time-of-beginning, of each session that will be determined at a later time.”

“I entirely agree,” Telnorri told him.

“Very well. Tomorrow … I do not know at what time I will … receive the results of … my medical exam. Nor do I know when you will receive it, or when you will have an opportunity to review it or evaluate it so as to come up with … suggestions. Perhaps … perhaps tomorrow should be a day without a session.”

“That would be fine. Please feel free to contact me at any time if you have any questions or comments you would like to address sooner – and do let me know a time that would be convenient for you for our next meeting.”

“Perhaps … the following day, at the same time?”

“Tuesday, July 21, at 19:30?”

“That would be … acceptable. I thank you, Counselor.”

“You’re welcome. And I thank you, Garak.”

Garak gave to him a short-bow.

The Counselor reciprocated his gesture and took out his padd, evidently planning to read until Heyns’s return in … approximately four minutes.

Garak replicated a cup of tea for himself, offered a cup to Telnorri, who politely declined, and retired to his sleeping-quarters to drink his tea and begin the preparation of a new schedule.

Chapter Text

Julian glanced at his chronometer as if he didn’t already know the time: 05:43.

Garak would arrive within seventeen minutes for his scheduled exam – or he would not. Julian didn’t know which was more likely. He did know that Taya had not contacted him to cancel or postpone the appointment.

Neither had Garak, and Julian knew Garak despised tardiness. If he knew he would not be coming, he would already have canceled.

Most likely, he was planning to come – precisely at 06:00.

In fewer than fourteen-and-a-half minutes, now.

Julian double-checked his equipment and supplies: everything necessary for every exam he wanted to run was ready – both for exams he was fairly sure Garak would agree to and those he suspected he would not. Every bio bed in the facility was functioning properly. The facility had been cleaned and he had run a cleaning cycle on the ventilation system as well; Garak would probably still notice scents he found unpleasant – but at least they would not be as strong, and would be primarily limited to the residual scents of soap, the cleaners used on the floor and the bio-beds, and the scents of whomever was present within the infirmary when Garak arrived – currently only himself and Jabara. With no patients currently requiring her services, Jabara was currently catching up on her reading in the staff lounge.

There was absolutely nothing else for him to do now except wait. For nine-and-a half –

Julian’s padd signaled receipt of a text-only communication.

Julian sighed. He should have known Garak wouldn’t show up for a medical exam. He knew how much he hated medical exams, and how much he hated the infirmary, and – well. He should probably read the message – not just assume the message was from Garak or Taya. It could be from anyone.

He opened the message.

It was from Taya.

Julian read the message.

Good morning, Dr. Bashir!

Garak’s almost ready to go; we’ll be heading your way shortly. However, I wanted to let you know he adamantly refused to skip his morning beverage. I explained to him the purpose of a fasting blood-sugar test; he was not interested. I think he suspects I, or somebody, was trying to set him up for failure. Regardless, he’s had half a cup of rokassa juice. He agreed to wait until later for breakfast. I did not offer his meds, as he typically has them with breakfast; he requested and took 5 cc of the PRN triptacederine – I assume proactively, as he’s not showing any signs of pain or discomfort, and he’s managed his morning routine thus far without obvious anxiety.

We’ll see you soon!

- Taya

Julian smiled. Garak hadn’t changed his mind! He was planning to come to the infirmary – and, presumably, permit at least a cursory examination.

Julian checked his chronometer again.

05:54.

Garak would be there soon. Most likely, he would arrive at precisely 06:00.

* * *

Footsteps approached the infirmary door and stopped outside.

“We’re here,” Nurse Patel said, quietly.

“I am quite aware of that,” Garak replied irritably.

The door opened.

Garak took a single step inside. “Good morning, Doctor!” he exclaimed with obviously feigned enthusiasm.

“Good morning, Garak,” Julian replied, gesturing politely for Garak to enter. “Good morning, Taya.”

“Good morning!” Taya turned to Garak. “I believe I’ll check in with Niyel to see how her trip to Bajor last week went – if she’s here,” she added, turning to Julian.

“She is. She’s in the lounge,” Julian replied.

“That is an excellent idea, Nurse Patel,” Garak said. “Do be so kind as to offer my greetings to Nurse Jabara as well.”

Taya smiled at him. “Of course.” She nodded to him and to Julian and made her way to the lounge.

Julian turned to Garak. “Thank you for coming. Are you ready to get started?”

Garak looked at him suspiciously. “I have no intention of wearing any of the hideous garments so frequently worn within this facility, Doctor.”

Julian held up his empty hands. “Then you’re in luck, Garak. I wasn’t planning to ask you to. You’ve made your opinion about hospital clothing quite clear.”

Garak nodded.

“I will ask you to take a seat on one of the bio beds,” Julian requested. “I’d like to begin by checking your vital signs.”

“Certainly.”

Garak looked at the bio beds and walked toward the bed furthest from the doors. He stood there, silently, for a moment.

Before Julian could ask what was wrong, Garak reached for the bed’s controls, raised the headboard, and seated himself.

Julian activated the bed’s diagnostic mode and examined the readouts.

Garak’s respiratory and pulse rates were elevated, but not dangerously so, and his oxygen levels were excellent at 98%. His blood pressure was normal. His temperature was lower than a human’s, but that wasn’t really a concern, as Cardassians maintained a wider range of typical temperatures than humans.

However, that did not mean Garak was comfortable at the lower temperature.

Julian looked at him.

Garak looked straight ahead, his expression carefully blank.

“Your vitals look fine, Garak. Your breathing and pulse rates are a little high, but that’s to be expected when you’ve just walked from your quarters down to the Promenade.”

“Indeed.”

“Your temperature is a little low. I can raise the temperature in here by a few degrees, if you’d like.”

“That will not be necessary.”

“Would it be unpleasant?” Julian countered.

Garak chuckled. “Not at all, Doctor.”

“All right, then. Computer – raise temperature by … seven degrees.”

The heating system activated.

Garak glanced at Julian. “Thank you,” he said.

“Not a problem. Now, I’d like to listen to your heart and lungs, if I – ”

“That will not be necessary,” Garak interrupted.

“As you wish.” Julian considered. He would have preferred to complete a full examination – but he had no intention of insisting on doing so – and risking Garak deciding not to allow any examination at all.

“My heart and lungs are functioning adequately,” Garak announced, evidently deciding Julian required an explanation of his refusal.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Julian told him inanely.

Garak did not reply.

“I’d like … actually, I need to scan your head to determine how well the … surgical site is healing, and I need to run a few blood tests.”

Garak sighed. “You may proceed.”

“Thank you.” Julian washed his hands and took out the necessary equipment for a blood test. “First, I need to – ”

“I am familiar with the process,” Garak informed him. “Proceed.”

Julian nodded. He drew the necessary blood, set the vials aside, and picked up a portable scanner. The stationary scanner had slightly better resolution; he would have preferred to use it, but with Garak’s claustrophobia, Julian doubted he would tolerate it – and he didn’t want to sedate him unless absolutely necessary.

Julian activated the scanner.

Garak flinched when Julian brought it close, but he did not protest.

“This will only take a few minutes,” Julian promised.

Garak nodded shortly.

Julian began the scan.

Garak didn’t move.

Julian glanced at him.

Garak’s eyes were closed. He was gripping the side rails of the bed tightly, and he was clearly struggling to maintain one of the breathing patterns he used to try to keep himself calm.

“One more minute, Garak,” Julian said.

Garak did not respond.

Julian finished the scan. “All done,” he said. “It looks good, Garak. The swelling has completely resolved, and – ” he stopped, noticing Garak’s expression.

He was looking toward the entrance with an expression of absolute horror.

“Garak? What’s – ”

Julian stopped talking and listened.

Footsteps were approaching the infirmary door.

Oh, this is not going to go well, Julian told himself. And there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t tell a potential patient they could not come in to the infirmary. He could tell Garak he was free to go, but that would probably make things worse – Garak didn’t have time to leave without crossing paths with the newcomer on his way out.

Julian tapped his communicator. “Jabara. I need you in here now,” he said quietly. He could see the people approaching, now.

Both were Bajora. One was an adult wearing an engineering uniform and clutching his right arm; the other was a child. Julian had seen him before, but he hadn’t met him or treated him in the infirmary, and he didn’t know his name.

Taya entered the main room first, followed almost immediately by Jabara.

Both immediately recognized the situation.

Jabara hurried to the entrance to greet the two Bajora.

“He’s free to go, but you might want to give him a few minutes,” Julian told Taya quickly. “I’ll contact you both later, after I’ve run the results; you can come back then, or I can meet you later in his shop or in his quarters.”

Taya nodded. She stepped between Garak and the entrance. “You’re free to go,” she announced as if she’d just finished performing a routine exam on him.

Julian opened his mouth to tell her he wasn’t sure that was such a good idea, but Taya was still speaking.

“If you’ve got a minute or two, though, I was wondering if you might tell me how the Arboretum you and Professor O’Brien are working on is progressing. I’ve heard so much about it; I’m looking forward to when it opens to the public!”

Garak looked confused, but he nodded. “Yes. Certainly. Of course,” he replied. His breathing had steadied, Julian noticed, and he looked almost calm, despite the presence of the newcomers.

Maybe this won’t be so bad, Julian thought.

And then the child noticed Garak. “Taati! Is that a Cardassian?” he asked.

The man rushed to the boy’s side and looked. “Yes. He does not now wear … ” the man stopped and shook his head. <<He is not now wearing a soldier’s uniform,>> he said in what sounded like Dahkuri Bajoran.

The child nodded. He took a step towards Garak and stopped when his father put a hand on his shoulder. “Hello!” he called to Garak in Federation Standard.

Garak looked at him, startled. “Hello,” he replied tentatively.

“Are you going to make us work in the mines?”

“Yes,” Garak replied promptly. “Go do that.”

“But I don’t know where are the mines!”

“The mines are on Bajor,” his father told him.

“What is on the station?”

The man sighed. “Ore processing,” he said. <<However – >>

“Are you going to make us work in ore processing?” the child asked.

“That would be acceptable. Go do that.”

“But I’m supposed to go to school today! I just can’t go yet because school doesn’t start until later and Aama is working and Taata hurt his arm so we had to come here first.”

Garak almost smiled. “That is unfortunate,” he said. “Perhaps the good Doctor can heal your Taata’s arm quickly so you will not lose important opportunities for study.”

“And so I can work in ore processing?”

Garak sighed. “The ore processing center on this station has been closed for years, child. Even if it were not, I would have no way to determine the quality of your work. I would never ask someone to work incompetently.”

“You’d just look at it. At my work. And you would see if I was doing it right.”

“If you were sewing, cutting out fabric, or planting indika flowers, I could certainly do so.”

The child grinned. “I know who you are!” he exclaimed. “You are the tailor! My friend Molly told me about you. She said you made a costume for her!”

Garak stared at him. “I … I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You are correct; I am the tailor who made Molly’s costume. Garak is my name. I’m afraid I do not know your name.”

“My name is Gavan, and this is Taata.”

“Evel Metřel is my name,” the man spoke up.

“Yes. This is Taata, and his name is Evel Metřel, and he is an engineer.”

“I am pleased to meet you both,” Garak said.

Julian suspected he was actually telling the truth.

Garak looked at Evel and inclined his head apologetically. <<I assure you both – I have no intention of taking up a new career in either ore processing or the overseeing of work in such a facility.>>

<<That is good to know,>> Evel replied.

“Why don’t you both take a seat?” Jabara offered, evidently attempting to end their interaction before it went wrong. “Dr. Bashir will be with you soon.”

“On the contrary!” Garak exclaimed. “The treatment of an injury prior to accompanying one’s child to that child’s school takes precedence over a … routine examination. I can wait.”

“Thank you, Garak,” Julian told him. “You’re welcome to wait if you’d like – but if you’d rather leave, that’s all right, too. Your exam is complete; I can contact you later after I’ve analyzed the results.”

Garak raised an eye-ridge. “I am … what is that peculiar Federaji phrase? ‘Free to go?’”

“That’s right. On both counts.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Good day to you.”

“You too, Garak.”

Garak stood and gave a short bow to Gavan and his father. “Good day to you as well,” he said.

“And to you,” Evel replied.

“Bye!” Gavan said.

Garak allowed himself to smile, just for a moment. Then he turned toward the door, glanced at Taya, and stopped.

Taya inclined her head slightly and waited.

“I … did not finish telling you of the progress the Professor and I have made in the Arboretum,” he told her.

“That’s true. You did not,” she agreed.

He stared at her, but did not continue.

“If you are amenable, perhaps you would join me for a cup of tea?” Taya suggested. “I believe Dr. Bashir and Nurse Jabara have things covered here.”

“Yes. We’re good. Thank you, Nurse Patel,” Julian said.

She inclined her head. “You’re quite welcome, Doctor.” She looked at Garak.

Garak bowed. “It would be my pleasure to join you for a cup of tea and tell you of the progress the Professor and I have made in the Arboretum,” he said.

Taya smiled.

The two of them took their leave and walked out of the infirmary.

Julian watched them go.

Garak looked calm now, or nearly so. He was completely steady on his feet – and he did not hesitate before stepping out onto the Promenade, even though several people were walking past.

Julian smiled. He hadn’t had a chance yet to run the necessary blood tests or do more than a cursory reading of the scans, but he couldn’t deny that the exam itself had, for the most part, gone well. In a few minutes he would run the tests and analyze the scans thoroughly.

In the meantime, he had another patient to attend to.

Chapter Text

Garak opened the door to his shop and gestured for Nurse Patel to precede him inside.

Nurse Patel inclined her head politely and did so.

Garak followed and shut the door behind him. He checked his chronometer: 06:47. Much too early to open his shop to customers.

Instead, he told the computer to adjust the environmental settings, and retreated to the back room.

Nurse Patel followed him and paused at the replicator.

Tea.

Of course.

She had offered tea; he had accepted.

But was he not the host? She was within his shop, after all.

“Do excuse me, Nurse Patel,” Garak said.

She looked at him inquisitively.

He gestured toward a chair.

She smiled at him and sat down.

Garak replicated their tea – green tea for the nurse and red leaf for himself – and brought the cups to the table.

“Thank you, Garak.”

He nodded. “Certainly,” he said. He seated himself as well.

The tea was hot. Garak held the cup and inhaled the steam. The warmth of cup and steam were quite pleasant – significantly more so than the ambient temperature of the shop. The heating system was active, but it would take time for the temperature to become at all comfortable.

Yet the shop was already more comfortable than the accursed infirmary. That had been … thoroughly unpleasant. The room had been unpleasantly cold and bright, but he had expected that. It had smelled quite strongly of chemical disinfectants. He had expected that as well. It had not been as crowded as he had feared; only one patient other than himself, and that patient's child, had been present – and neither had been particularly hostile.

What he had not expected, but should have, was the scanner.

He had submitted to medical scans before, of course. Far too many times – including scans of his head. The first had been in the hospital in Kardassi'or, shortly after he awakened from the surgery to place the implant. His head hurt quite unpleasantly, but no one had provided him with any medication to dull the pain – yet the scan itself had been … benign, that time.

The next … had not.

He had undergone the next scan several weeks after he received the implant.

“The incision has healed satisfactorily and the swelling has resolved,” Garak remembered the doctor saying. And then the doctor had turned to her assistant. “Proceed,” she said.

He could only excuse his lapse of attention on the fact that he had become complacent during his stay within the hospital. His focus had been on the pain in his head and the medications with which he was intermittently provided. So when the assistant took his hand, he did not immediately fight back – and the sharp pain in his hand when she sliced it came as a most unpleasant surprise.

He should not have expected such an unpleasant surprise to take place within Doctor Bashir's infirmary.

And it did not. Doctor Bashir did not injure him, except of course to the extent required to take a sample of his blood. Presumably he had completed several tests on that blood – a determination of the levels of sugar and of medications within his blood at the time, if the tests Counselor Telnorri had mentioned were the same as those performed by the Doctor – and evaluated the results. Certainly he had evaluated cardiac and respiratory function as well; he measured the rate of the beating of his heart, the rate of his breathing, and the pressure within his blood-vessels-for-transporting-blood-with-oxygen. And he had evaluated the results of the scan of his head.

He had done nothing to test the effectiveness of his implant.

Well, of course he hadn't.

The implant was gone.

He could no longer rely on it to … well, for any purpose, actually.

That is for the best, Garak told himself unconvincingly. Certainly no longer having a malfunctioning implant was for the best. Not having it all, however –

“Garak?”

It was the nurse calling him. Patel.

Garak blinked and drew his attention back to the present – to the nurse sitting across the table from him, the scent of red-leaf tea, the cup of no-longer-steaming tea awaiting him on the table. “Yes?” he queried. He scowled at the slight tremor in his voice.

“I was wondering what your plans might be for breakfast,” Nurse Patel said.

Her comment was entirely benign.

Routine.

“Is there something specific you would like? We could go to the Replimat, if you'd like; it won't be crowded at all this early in the day.”

“That will not be necessary!” Garak snapped.

The nurse looked at him with aggravating calmness.

Garak scowled at her.

She did not flinch or look away. She just waited.

Garak sighed. “Our present location will suffice,” he told her.

She asked him the inevitable question of what he would like to eat.

He wanted to reply that he was not hungry, that he had work to do. But if he did so, she would remind him that he had not yet taken the morning's medication, though he had taken what the Federaji erroneously referred to as 'quick-acting' triptacederine – and she would be correct. He had not yet taken the extended-release medication. He should not take it, of course. He should not require any medication.

He should not, but he did. To not take the medication would be entirely unsuitable.

“Garak?”

“Food would be a sensible option,” Garak informed her.

Nurse Patel raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You wouldn't rather partake of a delicious plate of … ice?”

Garak smiled. He masked the expression quickly, but suspected he failed to do so quickly enough to prevent her from noticing. “I would not,” he replied. He stood, walked to the replicator, and requested a small mixed salad.

The replicator produced the requested salad.

Garak almost turned back to the table before remembering his manners. “Nurse Patel? What may I get for you?”

“I would love the same kind of salad you've got, and hasperat.”

“Certainly.” Garak replicated the requested items – and one other. He placed each item on a tray, along with the appropriate utensils, and carried the tray to the table.

Nurse Patel did not laugh when she saw what he had brought her – a small mixed salad, hasperat, and a bowl of crushed ice. “Thank you, Garak. This is perfect!” she told him instead. She picked up a spoon, scooped up a piece of ice – and ate it.

Garak chuckled. He, too, picked up a spoon and began to eat – though what he ate was actual food. Significantly more suitable for consumption than ice.

Patel ate actual food, too – though Garak noticed that she finished every bit of the ice he had brought her.

She did not offer him his medication until after they both finished their respective meals.

He did not request the medication. He was quite capable of waiting. He finished his meal and his tea, and waited.

At last, Nurse Patel opened her medical kit, took out two hyposprays, and set them on the table.

Garak picked up the first; it was already filled with a vial of the extended-release triptacederine, and it was already set for the correct dose.

Garak injected the medication quickly, set the hypospray on the table, and examined the second. It, too, had already been prepared; it contained a vial of hydrocortiline, and it, too, had been set to the correct dose. Garak took that medication as well, and returned both hyposprays to the nurse.

He should get to work. He had not yet determined how much work awaited him, though he knew approximately what remained from the previous day.

His shop was warm enough, now. His head did not ache. His hands were sufficiently steady. Surely he could complete at least the previous day's mending. He should complete the alterations, as well – yet that work would be more extensive, and the Professor had agreed to begin the planting of the first garden-bed in the Tropical Room after the completion of her day's teaching responsibilities. It would not do for him to yet again be unable to work efficiently at the day's tasks. It certainly would not do to lose his place again – especially if Molly were present, assisting with the planting, as the Professor had said she wished to do.

Perhaps it would be best, on this day, to complete fewer of his professional responsibilities. He was already tired, though his head did not yet ache; were he to work continuously through the day, with no time of respite between the completion of his professional duties and the beginning of his work in the Arboretum, he would be significantly more tired by the time he and the Professor began their work than he already was. His head would certainly already ache, if he did not take a suitable amount of medication to mitigate the pain; if he did take a suitable amount of medication to mitigate the pain, maintaining his focus would be significantly more difficult. Holding his place might not be more difficult at all; usually, doing so within the Arboretum was not difficult. However, he could not deny that that was not always so. It certainly would not do at all to again comport himself so improperly as to require the Professor to call on one of his caregivers for assistance. Today, he had no scheduled counseling session; that would very likely change if he lost his place so severely as to require assistance – or if he again took too much of the medication.

Garak nodded to himself. He would, today, limit his professional duties to the previous day's mending, and he would allow himself a time of respite within his quarters, perhaps with the heat lamp activated, prior to the agreed-upon time for assisting the Professor with the planting of the next garden-bed.

Yet for there to be sufficient time to return to his quarters and allow himself a time of respite, he must finish the previous day's mending relatively soon – and that would be possible only if he actually began working.

Garak glanced at the table; it was empty of dishes and had been wiped clean. He thanked Nurse Patel for her service, washed and dried his hands, and returned to the workroom of his shop.

The workroom was not so pleasantly warm as the back room, as there had been no heat lamp activated within to provide additional heat, but the heating system had nonetheless brought the temperature up to one that was tolerable, if not entirely comfortable.

Garak removed the first garment from the stack of garments awaiting mending, and got to work.

Chapter Text

Keiko replicated a snack for Molly – veggies, hummus, and a small bowl of moba fruit – and changed from school clothes into clothes suitable for gardening. Garak would be expecting her in the Arboretum within half an hour, and she wanted to be ready to go as soon as Miles came home.

Of course, she wouldn't have to wait for Miles to come home if Molly were coming with her, but she wasn't entirely sure that was a good idea. She'd already told Molly she was meeting Garak to talk about their plans, and that they might begin planting later. She hadn't mention that the plans she wanted to talk about were simply whether or not Molly would be joining them.

Ideally, she would. Molly wanted to help, and Garak clearly appreciated her presence and enjoyed teaching her, but –

Keiko's communicator chirped. “Miles to Keiko,” Miles called.

Keiko tapped the communicator. “Hi, Miles. I'm here.”

“Hey, sweetheart. I won't be back for … two or three hours, at best. The docking elevator in Cargo Bay Four is down, and the crew of the vessel docked there are somewhat impatient to be on their way, and all my on-duty staff is already working on other essential repairs.”

Keiko sighed. “I understand. I appreciate you letting me know.”

“Of course. And I am sorry, Keiko. I know you were wanting to meet with Garak this afternoon.”

“One moment,” Keiko told him. She walked into their bedroom and shut the door so she could speak without Molly overhearing. “I may still be able to. We were planning on asking Molly to help with planting; I just wanted to … talk with him first. I can still do that, actually. I'll just contact him by communicator.”

Silence. After a long moment, Miles spoke. “All right, Keiko. If you're sure.”

“As I said, I'm going to talk with him first, Miles. If I'm not sure, I'll postpone – or suggest something easier. We might just look over the plans, show them to Molly, check on the plants, water a couple of them or spray their leaves, if he seems to be tired or in pain. Don't worry, Miles. I'll be careful – and so will Garak.”

“All right, but … tell me how it goes, yeah?”

Keiko smiled. “I can do that. Good luck with the repairs.”

“Thanks. I'll see you when I can. Miles out.” The channel disconnected.

Keiko deactivated her communicator, reactivated it, and opened a channel to Garak.

“This is Garak. Good afternoon, Professor,” Garak replied promptly.

“Good afternoon, Garak. Miles has been delayed at work – he's working on a repair in one of the docking bays – and won't be back for a few hours. I was wondering if you would mind if Molly joined us in the Arboretum.”

“Not at all! Professor, Molly is an attentive student and a diligent worker. I quite … I have no objections to her presence or to her assistance.”

“Thank you, Garak. She will be delighted to find out that she will get to plant something today.”

“You are quite welcome,” Garak said. “And … to look forward to useful work is indeed commendable.”

Keiko smiled. Judging by his tone, he was looking forward to 'useful work' just as much as she and Molly were – even if he would never admit to the sentiment. “We may be a few minutes late,” she warned him. “Molly is finishing her afternoon snack, but we will be on our way shortly.”

“Of course. I thank you for letting me know. I shall … see you soon.”

“Yes, we will,” Keiko promised. “Keiko out.” She deactivated the communicator and returned to the main room, where Molly was finishing the last few bites of moba fruit.

Molly looked up. “What did Daddy say?” she asked.

“He said he'll be late coming home because he has to fix something first.”

“Oh. What does he have to fix?”

“I'm not sure, exactly. Something about the docking elevator in one of the cargo bays.”

“So the ships can go up to the ceiling and out in space, and come back inside again?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“That's good, then. Ships are supposed to go outside and inside.”

“Yes, they are. The other person I was speaking to was Garak.”

Molly dropped the fork she was holding. “Did Garak say we can plant flowers today? Or baby trees? Or flowers and baby trees? Or flowers and baby trees and baby bushes?”

“Actually, we didn't talk about what specific work we'd be doing today. I told him your Daddy is going to be late coming home. We were going to go over plans today before I called your Daddy and you to ask if you wanted to join us, but – ”

“We can go over plans! And then we can plant flowers and baby trees and baby bushes!”

“We'll see. We will go over the plans, and we will probably plant at least a few trees, and maybe a few bushes or flowers, but what if … ” Keiko hesitated, trying to think of a plausible excuse to postpone the work if Garak didn't seem up to it – one that Molly would accept and that wouldn't offend Garak if she mentioned it to him later. “What if some of the plants in pots need water? We won't have time to plant them all today. We might need to postpone the planting to give the plants water.”

“Oh. Okay. I can give plants water if they're thirsty! Mommy, how do plants tell you if they're thirsty?”

“They can't tell us. We have to figure it out. If their leaves are drooping, or turning brown, or if the soil is dry, they're probably thirsty – unless they're cacti or other plants that don't need a lot of water and don't mind their soil being dry for a while, as long as they get a drink from time to time. Garak and I haven't ordered any cacti, though. All of the plants we've received so far prefer their soil to be slightly damp most of the time.”

Molly stood up. “Okay! I can check the plants and make sure they're not droopy or brown and their soil's not dry!”

“Not yet, Molly. Finish your snack first, please.”

Molly looked at her bowl and nodded. “Okay. I'll finish my snack, and I'll bring my dishes to the cleaner, and I'll wash my hands, and then we'll go to the Arboretum and say 'hi' to Garak and I can check the plants and look over the plans!”

“That sounds perfect, Molly,” Keiko told her.

Molly finished her snack, put the dishes where they belonged, washed her hands, and put on her shoes. “I'm ready, Mommy!” she announced.

Keiko smiled at her. “Yes, you are. Thank you, Molly, for getting ready so quickly. Now, let's go see Garak – and remember to use your quiet voice and walking feet inside the Arboretum.”

“I will!” Molly ran to the door and waited impatiently for Keiko to open it.

Keiko double-checked that her communicator was still clipped to her shirt, made sure her padd was inside her bag, and opened the door.

Molly stepped outside – remembering to look both ways first so she wouldn't run into anyone.

Keiko followed and shut the door behind them.

“Let's go!” Molly demanded the moment the door shut.

Keiko nodded. “I'm ready,” she said.

Molly smiled.

Together, they made their way to the Arboretum.

Chapter Text

The Professor and Molly had not yet arrived when Garak and Nurse Patel entered the Arboretum. That was fortunate, as Garak had misjudged his speed-of-walking and left his quarters much too late; he had arrived two minutes after the agreed-upon time, which was entirely unsuitable – but less problematic than it otherwise would have been, as no one had been required to wait for him.

Garak checked on the plants within the Temperate Room while he awaited the arrival of the Professor and Molly.

All were in good health. The moisture level of the garden-bed was suitable. The level-of-light was suitable as well. The temperature was well within the range of suitable temperatures for the temperate room during its simulated warm-season, though not quite as warm as he would have preferred.

Garak made his way into the Tropical Room – which was significantly more comfortable in its temperature – just as the exterior door opened and Molly darted inside, followed by her mother.

Molly waved at Nurse Patel, and then she turned and saw him. “Hi, Tailor Garak! I mean … greetings and good health!” she exclaimed, slowing to a walk and inclining her head politely.

Garak returned the gesture. “Greetings and good health,” he replied.

“I have my gloves!” Molly announced, holding them up. “And I'm all ready to plant! What are we planting today?”

Garak glanced at the Professor.

She nodded to him.

He wasn't quite certain what she meant by the gesture, other than the obvious greeting – but he suspected she was affirming her permission to him to respond to Molly's question without first conferring with her.

Garak returned his attention to Molly. “That has not yet been determined. However, doing so is not the task of the highest priority. We have not yet checked on the plants to determine whether or not any need any immediate changes to their respective environment. Additional water, for example.”

Molly nodded. “Mommy said we needed to check on the plants, and she said the plants can't tell us if they're thirsty, but if they're droopy or brown and if their soil is dry they're probably thirsty. And they're probably thirsty if they say “we're thirsty,” but that would be silly because plants can't talk, but if they could, and they said 'we're thirsty', we should give them water.”

“I am not familiar with any plants that speak aloud so as to mislead someone as to whether or not they are 'thirsty', so your assumption is, I believe, correct,” Garak replied.

The Professor and Nurse Patel were both smiling, Garak noticed.

Neither was attempting to intervene – which was understandable, as his behavior was in no way inappropriate.

“Shall we check on the plants? And … listen for any complaints?” Garak suggested.

Molly giggled. “Yes!” she exclaimed. She walked – very quickly – over to the plants awaiting transplantation.

Garak followed her at what was, perhaps, a somewhat more dignified speed.

The Professor joined him.

Nurse Patel waved for his attention, gestured toward the door to the Temperate Room, and gave him a questioning look.

Garak nodded.

Nurse Patel spoke briefly with the Professor and then made her way into the adjoining room.

Well. He was, apparently, to be trusted to comport himself appropriately, notwithstanding his failure several days earlier. He certainly intended to comport himself appropriately. He had taken a suitable dose, he hoped, of the so-called 'quick-acting' medication proactively – a mere four cc above what he would usually take prior to an afternoon upon which he had no work scheduled or planned.

He had taken no extra medication without the nurse's knowledge, which was perhaps preferable. He carried a hypospray within his tunic pocket, of course, already loaded with a full vial of triptacederine. It was available if he needed it … which he did not, at the moment. His head did not ache. He was, at the moment, in no danger of losing his place. He was tired, certainly. He did not have the ability to build a large segment of garden-wall or to lay a long, wide segment of path. However, he was quite capable of checking on plants and, upon completion of that task and after providing any necessary changes to the environment of any plants which required such changes, he would be quite capable of digging several planting-holes and assisting with the transplantation of a plant into each hole. Assuming that the Professor and Molly also intended to do such work, the three of them should be able to accomplish a reasonable amount of work – so long as they began to do so soon.

Garak looked at Molly, who was carefully evaluating the fronds of a fern. He walked over to look more closely at whatever had caught her attention.

“Tailor Garak, is this plant thirsty?” Molly asked. “Its leaves aren't brown, but they look … funny.”

Garak examined the fronds, which had begun to droop somewhat and appeared to be rather dry and brittle at the tips. “You are correct, with respect to the leaves,” he told her. “They appear dry and brittle.”

“What's 'brittle'?” Molly asked.

“These leaves, here … do you see how they are … stiff? They look as if they would easily break.” Garak demonstrated, breaking off a tiny piece of one frond.

Molly nodded. “That's not good, right?”

“You are correct. It is not. However … did you feel the soil?”

Molly shook her head. She reached out and touched the soil. “It doesn't feel dry,” she said.

Garak nodded. “The soil is not dry. The plant is not … thirsty. It is more …” he stopped and shook his head. “These plants prefer for the air to be not too dry. Humid. They prefer a more humid air. The air in here is quite dry.”

Molly frowned. “You can't give the air a drink,” she said. “The water would spill right on the floor.”

Garak raised an eye-ridge. “Actually, you can give to the air a drink,” he said. “It is simply necessary to do so … in a different manner.”

Molly shook her head. “No, you can't. Air doesn't drink.”

“I will demonstrate,” Garak told her. He looked up at the Professor. “Professor? Would you care for some tea?”

The Professor smiled. “That would be … quite suitable, Garak. Thank you.”

Garak nodded. “Molly? Do you drink tea? Or would you perhaps like some … hot juice?”

Molly shook her head. “I like my juice cold,” she said.

“Very well. Would you care for some cold juice?”

“Okay. I like cold apple juice. And cold rokossa juice and cold grape juice and cold moba-fruit juice, but I like cold apple juice best.”

“Certainly.” Garak walked over to the replicator. “Computer … one cup of cold apple juice,” he requested.

The replicator complied.

Garak held the cup out to Molly. “Please do not yet drink your juice,” he requested.

“I know why! 'Cause you and Mommy don't have your drinks yet!” Molly replied. “I promise I'll wait.”

“Thank you.” Garak ordered a cup of hot tea for the Professor and a cup of hot rokassa juice for himself. He set both cups on the garden-wall. “Miss Molly, what do you see?” he asked, nodding toward the two cups of steaming liquid and the single cup of not-steaming liquid.

Molly laughed. “It's steam! You're giving the air a drink of steam!” She frowned. “But I'm not giving the air a drink, because my juice isn't steaming.”

Garak smiled. “You are correct,” he replied. “However, this steam is simply a … a …” he stopped talking and turned to the Professor. “An … example-that-is-shown?” he asked.

“I think 'demonstration' is the Standard word you're looking for.”

Garak inclined his head. “I thank you, Professor.” He turned back to Molly. “This steam is simply a … demonstration. It is not enough to significantly increase the humidity of a room of the size of this room. One additional cup of steaming liquid would also not significantly increase the humidity in a room of this size. It will be necessary to utilize a different method so as to provide sufficient humidity to the ferns you correctly identified as requiring additional humidity.” He took two spray bottles from the area in which the various tools were currently stored, filled them with tepid water at the sink within the hygiene chamber, and gave one of the spray bottles to Molly.

When they were both suitably equipped, Garak demonstrated how to spray the fronds.

Molly nodded solemnly, and got to work.

Together, they sprayed all of the fronds on each of the affected plants.

“Are there more plants that need more humidity?” Molly asked.

“I do not know, but I believe that there may be,” Garak told her. “However, I suspect it will not harm any such plants to wait a few more minutes. You may wish to drink your cold juice before it becomes too warm. I, conversely, wish to drink my hot juice before it becomes too cold.”

“We should drink our juice when it's the right temperature,” Molly agreed. She set her spray bottle down upon the floor, picked up her cup of juice, and drank.

Garak seated himself upon the garden-wall beside the Professor, who was already sipping her tea and looking over the plants.

He drank his juice as well. It had already cooled slightly more than he would have preferred, but that was of no matter. The plants had received the care they required … and Molly now knew of two methods for increasing humidity within a room with unsuitably dry air.

“Now the plants aren't thirsty and we're not thirsty,” Molly announced after she, the Professor, and Garak had finished their respective beverages and washed the cups. “Is it time to plant the trees and shrubs and other plants now?”

Garak raised an eye-ridge. “Every tree and shrub and other plant, all at the same time?” he asked.

Molly giggled. “No! That's silly! We can't do that! But may we plant the first tree? Please?”

“What is your opinion?” he asked.

Molly hesitated, obviously considering … and then she shook her head. “No. We need to finish checking on the plants, first.”

“I completely agree,” Garak said. He walked over to the nearest crate and began to examine the plants within.

* * *

Several additional plants showed signs of distress due to low humidity. Garak, Molly, and the Professor sprayed each of them – as well as other plants that were not yet showing signs of distress but were known to require higher humidity.

“Shall we plant the first tree?” Garak asked Molly after they finished caring for the plants.

“Yes!” Molly replied.

Garak smiled. “You may begin,” he said.

Molly looked confused for a moment, and then she giggled. “We have to decide which tree to plant first, Tailor Garak! And we have to figure out where it goes and dig the hole!”

“You are correct,” Garak told her. “Yet there is another … step … as well, to accomplish before planting the tree. Two steps, in fact: one being to determine which tree to plant. Do you remember the other step?”

“To see if the soil is too wet or too dry or just right, like Goldilocks' porridge?”

Garak inclined his head. “Precisely,” he said. He turned to the Professor. “Which shall be the first tree to be planted within this room?” he asked.

“That one!” Molly announced before the Professor could reply. She was pointing to one of the s'ketic seedlings.

Well. That was hardly suitable! The first tree to be planted within the Tropical Room should be Bajoran or Terran!

“Why?” the Professor asked Molly.

“It's pretty!” Molly answered inanely – though of course inanity could be excused in a person so young.

“You're absolutely right,” the Professor told her. She turned to Garak. “A s'ketic seedling would be perfect, Garak,” she announced. “The bog gardens need them for shade, they produce edible leaves – and, as Molly pointed out, they are pretty.”

Garak looked away. It would hardly be appropriate to object to Molly's suggestion after the Professor expressed her support, yet the Bajora of the station would be horrified if a tree native to and commonly grown upon Kardassi'ya were given the honor of being the first tree to be planted within the second room of the Arboretum! They would never accept such a decision – and they would inevitably blame him for it. They would look at him with even more hostility and anger and contempt than they already did, and one of them might eventually decide he should no longer be permitted to reside upon –

“Tailor Garak, where does this tree go?” Molly asked.

“It goes … ” Garak stopped and shook his head. “Miss Molly, do you not believe the first tree to be planted within this room should be a Terran tree or a Bajoran tree?” he asked.

“No,” Molly replied promptly. “You and Mommy planted a cherry tree first in the other room, and that's a Terran tree, so we should plant a Cardassian tree first in this room.”

Garak stared at her. “Miss Molly, this is a Bajoran station,” he reminded her. “It is administered jointly by Bajor and by the United Federation of Plants. Not by Cardassia.”

“What's 'administered jointly' mean?”

“It means 'managed' or 'run' together,” the Professor explained. “A person who administers a space station is the person in charge of it. Captain Sisko is in charge of Deep Space Nine. Major Kira is the second-in-command. So, you can say they run the station together, or they jointly administer the station.”

Molly nodded. “Oh. But they don't jointly administer the Arboretum, do they? I never saw them here!”

The Professor shook her head. “No, they don't, but Captain Sisko gave us permission to use these two rooms for the Arboretum.”

“You and Tailor Garak jointly administer the Arboretum, right?”

Garak started to shake his head. The Arboretum was the Professor's project, after all. She simply permitted him to assist.

But the Professor didn't shake her head or otherwise correct her daughter. “Yes,” she said instead.

Molly smiled. “So you and Tailor Garak jointly administer the Arboretum, and you're a human from Earth – and you're a Cardassian, Tailor Garak – and so the first tree in this room should be a Cardassian tree, because the first tree in the other room is a Terran tree.”

“I agree,” the Professor told her.

Garak shook his head. “The first tree should be a Terran tree. Or a Bajoran tree.”

“That's silly,” Molly said. “The first tree in the other room is Mommy's favorite tree, and it's a Terran tree, so the first tree in this room should be a Cardassian tree, and it should be your favorite tree. What's your favorite tree?”

That was hardly a suitable question! Utility and political appropriateness should determine the choice of the first tree to be planted within the second room of the Arboretum, not his personal preference!

“The ithian tree?” the Professor suggested.

Well … it would be quite unsuitable to fail to answer a simple question, even if the question were based upon an unsuitable question. “Yes,” Garak acknowledged. “Yet the ithian tree requires a period of time during the year with dry soil and little humidity. It could grow within this room, but it would be susceptible to illness without special care.”

“So it should grow in the other room,” Molly said. “That room is suitable, 'cause ithian trees are growing there right now!”

“Precisely,” Garak told her.

“What's your favorite Cardassian tree that likes warm temperatures and humidity?” Molly asked.

“I … I do not believe I have a specific favorite warm-temperature Cardassian tree.”

“But do you like s'ketic trees? Even if they're not your favorite?”

Garak wondered if she would ever stop asking questions.

Perhaps she would, if he first answered enough of them to satisfy her curiosity.

“Yes,” he replied.

“So we should plant the baby ... the seedling s'ketic tree first, 'cause it's a Cardassian tree, and the first tree in this room should be a Cardassian tree, 'cause that's fair.”

“I agree,” the Professor. “That baby tree … that seedling … is an excellent choice, Molly – for the reasons you mentioned and also because trees tend to grow more slowly than herbaceous plants – like sunflowers and indika plants and other annual and perennial plants.”

Garak frowned. He was quite certain that no Bajora would agree with Molly's assessment – and no one would agree that relative rate-of-growth was a logical reason to choose to plant one tree a few minutes, hours, or even days before another – and that was the decision-for-making-at-the-moment, not whether to plant a tree prior to an annual or perennial herbaceous plant. Yet it would be entirely unsuitable to contradict the Professor within the presence of her daughter. She was, most likely, simply providing her daughter with an example of a logical, rather than merely aesthetic, reason as to why to plant Molly's selected seedling next; she, of necessity, had chosen a not-entirely-logical example simply because there was no logical reason for planting a Cardassian tree before a Bajoran tree in the second room of the Arboretum.

“Do s'ketic trees grow faster when they're growing in the ground than when they're growing in … what's that called?” Molly asked, pointing to the cloth-wrapping around the s'ketic seedling's roots.

“It's a cloth, similar to burlap, used to keep the roots moist until the tree can be planted,” the Professor explained. “I don't know the specific name. Garak? Do you?”

“The plant it is made from is called, in Dahkuri Bajoran, cywarch. The cloth is, I believe, t'kathyyn am-za'abhli,” Garak replied. “In Standard, it would be, perhaps … cloth-for-wrapping.”

“Do s'ketic trees grow faster in the ground than in t'ka … t'kathyn … wrapping-cloth?”

Garak nodded.

“They do,” the Professor said. “In the ground, the trees will receive the nutrients they need to grow from the soil – as well as from the water and the carbon dioxide in the air. The damp cloth around their roots keeps them alive, but it doesn't give them nutrients to help them grow.” She turned to Garak. “You don't object to planting the s'ketic tree first, do you?” she asked.

Garak hesitated. There was no suitable answer to that particular question, but he was not entirely certain what answer would be least unsuitable. “The s'ketic tree is neither Bajoran nor Terran,” he said, though that was neither an appropriate response to the Professor's question nor a convincing argument as to why, precisely, the first tree should be Terran or Bajoran. Yet he could hardly inform the Professor that he wished to defy her wishes, and her daughter's wishes, merely because he was … concerned about the Bajoran response if or when they learned that the s'ketic tree had been the first tree planted within the Tropical Room.

“Garak, s'ketic trees grow on Bajor,” the Professor informed him. “They are popular in gardens – in tropical areas – as shade trees, and many people enjoy a tea made from a combination of s'ketic and nerak blossom.”

Garak froze. She was correct! It was entirely possible that many Bajora were unfamiliar with the origin of the tree … and even those who were familiar with its origin might assume a Terran or even a Kardasi, so long as that Kardasi had been born after the introduction of Kardasi plants onto the Bajoran homeworld, might not be so familiar with its origin. It was entirely possible that no one would take offense. “I do not object,” he said.

The Professor smiled at him. “Thank you, Garak.”

Garak suspected … no, he was quite certain … that she knew precisely why he had attempted to object. He looked away.

“Garak, will you show Molly where the s'ketic trees will be planted?”

Well. That, he could certainly do. “Of course,” he replied. He took out his padd, pulled up the plan for the first garden-bed in the Tropical Room, and looked up.

Molly was already standing beside him, looking at the screen. “That's the room's wall, and that's the door, and that's the hygiene chamber, and that's the stone wall you and Mommy built,” she said, pointing to each feature.

“You are correct,” Garak told her. “Do you see where the bog gardens – the areas for plants which require wet soil – are located on this plan?”

Molly looked at the plan carefully. “These? The circles that don't look like trees?”

Garak inclined his head. “Precisely. The s'ketic trees will go here, here, and here,” he told her, pointing to the appropriate tree-symbols within the plan – each located slightly behind a bog-garden. “Now, do you see where the bog-garden … containers … are located within the actual garden-bed?”

Molly ran to the wall and looked into the garden-bed. “There!” she exclaimed, pointing. “And there's another, and there's another!”

“Precisely. Now, can you see where the s'ketic trees will go?”

“Behind the bog gardens … no. This one is behind one of the bog gardens, but this one is kind of behind that bog garden, and kind of next to it.”

“Yes,” Garak replied. “One is directly behind a bog-garden – specifically, the bog-garden nearest to the center of the garden-bed. One of the others is behind and slightly to the left of the bog-garden with which it is associated, and the last is behind and slightly to the right of the final bog-garden.”

“Okay. But which is the first s'ketic tree?”

“I do not know.” Garak turned to the Professor. “Professor, which of the bog-gardens, in your opinion, requires shade-from-the-tree soonest? The s'ketic tree nearest to that bog-garden should, perhaps, be planted first; otherwise, that bog-garden may be so unfortunate as to be required to wait several more minutes before its temporary-shade-cloth can be removed.”

The Professor looked as if she were deliberately trying not to smile. “That's impossible to determine, Garak. We don't yet know how patient the individual plants are that will be planted within each bog-garden bed.”

Garak gave to her an incredulous look. How patient individual plants might be was now supposed to be a determining factor in a decision-making process?

The Professor grinned at him. She did not appear even slightly contrite over her less-than-convincing argument.

Ah. She was … joking.

Well. He could do so, too. “It seems to me that the order-of-decision-making could be different. Perhaps … first plant the s'ketic tree; after that planting has been completed, then you can interrogate the individual … candidates for planting-within-the-bog-gardens … and place the least patient of those plants within the bog-garden located closest to the first s'ketic tree.”

“That's silly,” Molly announced. “I know what 'interrogate' means. It means to ask questions. And you can't ask a plant questions … actually you can, but it won't answer, so you don't need to.”

“You are entirely correct, Miss Molly,” Garak said, dropping his sarcastic tone. “So … in which location do you wish to plant your chosen s'ketic seedling?”

“In the middle,” Molly replied. 'Cause it's the one that's supposed to be planted directly behind the bog garden, so its should get to start growing first so it'll get tall enough so people can see it behind the bog garden plants.”

“An excellent idea – and a logical reason,” Garak told her.

Molly smiled. “I'm gonna go get a shovel,” she announced.

“Thank you,” Garak and the Professor said at the same time.

Molly selected a small shovel and brought it to the garden-bed. “I'm gonna dig the hole, okay?” she asked, looking at Garak as well as at her mother.

The Professor nodded. “Yes, you may,” she said. She glanced at Garak.

“Certainly,” he confirmed.

Molly put the shovel inside the garden-bed, climbed over the wall, and picked up the shovel again. She walked over to the central bog-garden container. “Here?” she asked, pointing to the ground just beyond the bog-garden container.

“A little further,” the Professor told her. “The s'ketic tree will need room for its roots to spread. Go ahead and take three steps away.”

“Okay.” Molly took three small steps and looked up at her mother. “Here?” she asked again.

The Professor turned to Garak. “What do you think?” she asked.

“Perhaps … one more small step away,” Garak suggested.

Molly complied.

“That would be perfect,” Garak told her.

“Okay!” Molly began to dig.

Garak walked over to the crate of s'ketic seedlings, took out the seedling Molly had indicated, and carried it over to the garden-bed wall.

“I finished digging!” Molly announced. “Is the hole big enough?”

“I do not know,” Garak told her. He held out the seedling. “Will you check?”

“Yes!” Molly took the seedling and placed it inside the hole.

The seedling fit inside the hole, but almost a quarter of the trunk also fit inside.

“Uh oh. It's too big!” Molly exclaimed.

“That is not a problem,” Garak reassured her. “Soil can be easily replaced within the hole. However, now would be a suitable time to evaluate the surrounding soil. Is it hard and compact, soft and light, or perhaps something intermediate between the two extremes?”

Molly knelt in front of the hole and reached inside. “I can poke my fingers into the sides, and that means roots can poke into the sides and grow without growing in circles.” She pulled out a handful of soil and squeezed it. “It's not too wet, 'cause I don't see droplets of water coming out.”

“That is fortunate. Is it too dry?”

Molly opened her hand and blew upon the soil.

The soil remained in place.

“It's not too dry!”

“Excellent!” Garak said. He stepped over the wall and lifted the seedling to a suitable height. “Would you do the honors of backfilling the soil to the correct height?” he asked Molly.

Molly giggled. “No! You're not supposed to plant the wrapping-cloth, Garak!”

Garak raised an eye-ridge. “Professor? Do you concur?”

“Yes,” the Professor replied. “Absolutely. Roots can grow through burlap, but there's no way to see how they're growing. Without removing the wrapping-cloth and examining the roots, there's no way to know whether or not they're already growing in circles – but if we remove the wrapping-cloth and see the roots circling, we can shift their position so they'll spread out and the tree will grow much better.”

Molly examined the cloth. “It's tied up,” she said. She tried to untie it, but the knot was too tight. “Will you help, please, Tailor Garak?” she requested.

He inclined his head. “Certainly.” He removed the plant from the hole, laid it down, and untied the knots holding the wrapping-cloth in place.

Molly reached out and removed the wrapping-cloth. “Now it's ready,” she announced confidently. “'Cause its roots aren't growing in circles.”

“You are correct,” Garak told her. “It is, indeed, ready.” He picked up the seedling and moved it into place again.

“Welcome, little s'ketic tree!” Molly said. She picked up a handful of soil and tossed it into the hole. She continued working until the soil reached the tip of the seedling's taproot.

“One moment, if you please,” Garak told her.

Molly immediately stopped.

Garak removed the seedling and pressed down on the soil. “This soil will support the seedling better if it is not too light,” he explained. “It is now … more compact.”

“Okay,” Molly told him.

Garak once again moved the seedling into place and held it while Molly added soil. As she worked, he shifted a few roots about so they would be spread out somewhat better than otherwise they would have been.

Molly worked steadily.

Soon, the hole had been filled.

“When the seedling is watered in, the water will compact the soil somewhat,” Garak told Molly. “It would be useful to raise the soil somewhat higher, so the soil will be nearly level after the watering-in has been completed.”

Molly nodded. She added more soil until Garak nodded to her to stop.

The Professor brought them a small watering-can and held it out to Molly. “Would you like to water in the first seedling?” she asked.

“Yes!” Molly took the watering-can and, carefully, poured the water over the soil surrounding the tree.

The soil settled into place.

The seedling did not tilt to the side or otherwise shift its position.

Garak nodded, satisfied. Molly's work had been quite satisfactory; she had successfully planted the first tree of the first garden-bed of the second room of the Arboretum, with only a bit of assistance from himself and from the Professor.

The Professor had not mentioned a specific time by which she and Molly would need to stop their work and return to their quarters. Almost certainly, they had time to plant more trees, or perhaps shrubs or other plants.

How many they had time to plant, he did not know.

They should, of course, plant as many as possible within the available time. He was quite capable of continuing to work, after all, and of providing a suitable … 'role model'; that, he believed, was the Human term. His head barely ached, and he was certainly not so tired as to be unable to work. Of equal importance, he was experiencing no difficulty, at the moment, holding his place.

Yet he was not working, either – and he most certainly should be doing so. “Which Terran or Bajoran tree shall be the second tree to be planted within this room, Professor?” he asked. His voice sounded sharper and rather more abrupt than he had intended. “Or … should the second tree perhaps be from Trill, or perhaps Ferenginar?” he added, deliberately softening his voice and slowing his speech.

“A tree from Bajor would be fine, Garak,” the Professor replied. “Which do you think would be ... most suitable?”

“Perhaps … one of the moba trees?” Garak suggested. Moba trees were known to grow rather slowly, as they put much of their energy, during their first year of growth, into establishing strong root-systems; the Professor might be aware of that characteristic – and his suggestion would be appropriate if he were to suggest a tree based upon her prior reasoning with respect to rate-of-growth.

The Professor nodded. “That would be perfect,” she said. “Molly? What do you think? Would you like to pick out a moba seedling to plant next?”

“Okay!” Molly darted over to the plants. She hesitated, looking inside several of the bins – but a minute or two later, she reached inside one of the bins and pulled out a moba seedling, its roots carefully wrapped in cloth as the s'ketic had been. “Is this a moba seedling?” she asked. “Its leaves look like moba leaves, but it's not bumpy.”

“You are correct,” Garak informed her. “That is, in fact, a moba seedling. The seedlings do not have the ridged bark of older trees. Nor do first-year branches. The trees are more difficult to identify at such an early stage – but looking at the form of the leaves is, indeed, an accurate means of doing so. Now … where shall this tree be planted?”

Molly turned to look at Garak's padd. “I don't know. The screen's off,” she said.

“Ah. My apologies.” Garak reactivated the screen and offered the padd to Molly.

Molly set the seedling down upon the wall and took the padd. She muttered something Garak didn't hear, and then she pointed to one of the symbols. “M-o-b-a! That spells 'moba'! Right?”

Garak inclined his head. “You are correct. That is precisely what that word spells – and the symbol to which you are pointing is, indeed, a moba … a representation, that is to say, of a moba tree.”

“So the moba tree goes – over there?” Molly asked, pointing to a location between two of the bog-garden containers.

“Yes,” Garak replied. Molly climbed over the border-wall, picked up the shovel, and walked to a location quite close to the one indicated upon the plan. “Here?” she asked.

Garak nodded.

Molly began to dig the second hole.

Garak stepped over the wall and seated himself upon it.

The Professor looked at him sharply, and came to join him. She seated herself beside him.

Garak carefully schooled his expression into a neutral mask. She meant no offense; he was quite aware of that. She could hardly be faulted for noticing that he had demonstrated weakness by sitting down while there was work to be done … yet did not providing education to a child consist of work? Work was not, after all, limited to physical labor! He had not seated himself only … or even primarily … because he was tired; he had done so in order to … 'pace himself', he believed the expression was. By sitting before doing so became essential, he hoped to increase the amount of time he would be able to continue working – directly or indirectly.

“I appreciate your taking the time to teach Molly,” the Professor told him.

She did not mention his demonstration-of-weakness at all – and her slightly inclined head and the look she gave him, if he read Human non-verbal communication correctly, suggested … respect, as well as gratitude – not pity or scorn at all.

“It is an honor to instruct such a diligent student,” Garak replied, rather belatedly.

The Professor gave to him a short-bow. “Molly is fortunate to have you as an instructor,” she told him.

Garak lowered his head, perhaps to a slightly greater degree than was quite proper. “She is more fortunate to have yourself as her parent and her primary-instructor,” he said.

The Professor smiled. “Thank you, Garak. I appreciate that.”

Garak inclined his head – to a proper degree, this time. He did not otherwise reply; instead, he – and the Professor – sat and watched Molly prepare the hole, determine the density of the soil, and determine its level-of-moisture.

After Molly finished preparing the hole, Garak brought to her the tree; the Professor refilled the watering-can. This time, Molly held the tree in place while Garak and the Professor backfilled the hole.

Molly once again watered in the seedling.

After she was finished, the three of them planted a Terran tree – a mango.

And they continued working. They planted trees from Earth, and Kardassi'ya, and Bajor.

After the last tree had been planted, the Professor bowed to Garak and to Molly. “Thank you both,” she said. “We've accomplished a good day's work, I believe; we've planted all of the trees!”

“We haven't planted all the plants,” Molly pointed out.

“True, but it's getting close to dinner time for all of us,” the Professor told her. “It will take several hours to plant all of the shrubs, and probably about the same amount of time to plant the smaller plants. We'll do those on another day.”

“Tomorrow?” Garak requested. He shook his head slightly. “My apologies. I meant only to say that I am available tomorrow to assist with the planting, should your schedule also allow for such work.”

“I can plant shrubs and other plants tomorrow!” Molly announced.

“Tomorrow is a school day, Molly. We should, I think, plant the shrubs tomorrow, and the other plants on the next work-day. Garak? Is that acceptable to you?”

“It is quite acceptable,” Garak replied. He did not acknowledge that her idea was, in fact, an excellent one. His head was beginning to ache rather unpleasantly, and he could not deny that he was ready to stop work for the day. Continuing the planting on a future day was quite acceptable. Dividing the remaining planting into two days of work was also compelling; doing so would ensure that the work would be completed in a timely manner while reducing the likelihood of him failing to complete the agreed-upon work or to hold his place while attempting to complete the work.

The Professor and Molly took their leave of him, as he did of them – though Garak did not fail to notice that the Professor briefly activated her comm badge prior to their departure. Nor did he fail to notice that Nurse Patel returned to the Tropical Room shortly before they left.

“Hi!” Molly greeted the Nurse when she entered the room. “Do you want to see the seedlings we planted today?”

“I would love to!” Nurse Patel replied. “Will you show me, please?”

“Yes!” Molly showed the trees to the Nurse.

Garak did not fail to notice that she correctly identified every one.

“Bye, Tailor Garak! See you tomorrow!” Molly said.

“Indeed. Goodbye, Miss Molly. Thank you for your diligent work this afternoon.”

“You're welcome!” Molly waved her hand in the signal-of-leave-taking popular amongst the Humans, and she and the Professor exited the room.

“It looks good, Garak,” Nurse Patel told him. “The plants look healthy – and not a single one was planted leaves-down, roots-up.”

Garak gave her an exaggerated look of horror. “I should hope not!” he exclaimed. “Such a method of 'planting', if one can dignify such a … ridiculous action with such a term, would not be acceptable even for a … even for a plant-that-grows-upon-other-plants, for even they do not grow in such an … inverted position!”

The Nurse smiled. “I've not seen enough of that kind of plant to really know, but I've never seen an upside-down plant, either – except for reflections in still water, which are, of course, only images.”

“Indeed.”

“Are you ready to return to your quarters? Or would you like to stop at the Replimat for something to eat first?”

Garak gave her the disgusted look warranted by such a comment. “I have no intention of going to the Replimat at this hour of the evening,” he informed her. “Doing so would be exceptionally inefficient, as one would be required to wait for an excessive duration of time merely to obtain one's food. Finding appropriate seating would likely take at the least an equivalent amount of time.”

She nodded, and waited for him to reply to what he suspected had been her sole legitimate question.

He did not reply immediately. Instead, he considered. He could return to his quarters, almost certainly. Yet his head was aching, and he was tired. He did not wish to walk to his quarters at the moment.

“Perhaps … a cup of tea, first?” he suggested.

Nurse Patel nodded. “That sounds good,” she said. She turned toward the replicator. “What kind would you like?”

“Red leaf would be … quite suitable,” Garak told her.

The Nurse replicated his tea and a cup of green tea for herself, and brought them over to the garden-wall.

Garak thanked her and excused himself to wash his hands.

The walls of the hygiene chamber, though unpleasantly near, comported themselves precisely as walls should; they did not move. They did not so much as shift about.

Garak considered the possibility of taking a dose … just a small one … of triptacederine so as to ensure that he would, in fact, later be able to return to his quarters successfully, without incident.

Doing so would be sensible, of course … yet the walls really were comporting themselves appropriately, and the ache in his head, though unpleasant, had not yet become intolerable. Additional medication would be, therefore … unnecessary.

Garak washed his hands, dried them, and exited the small room without taking any medication at all.

The Tropical-Room outside of the hygiene chamber was, of course, a significantly more pleasant place than the interior of the hygiene chamber – especially now that the garden-bed was no longer completely devoid of plants.

The planting had not been completed, but progress had been made.

Garak seated himself upon the wall, picked up his cup, inhaled the delightfully-warm steam, and looked at the trees now planted within the garden-bed.

Progress had, indeed, been made.

Soon, he would return to his quarters. He would, perhaps, review plans for additional garden-beds, or consider what work he would accomplish on the morrow. Or, perhaps, he would read a chapter of the book the Doctor had suggested that the two of them read.

In the meantime, he was quite satisfied to sit upon the wall, inhale the red-leaf-scented steam, and look at the seedling trees as they began to settle into their new home.

Chapter Text

Telnorri completed his review of the last of his day's session notes, saved the file, and shut down the system, as he had no additional appointments scheduled for the day. He was, unofficially, 'on call' during Garak's usual 19:30 to 20:00 slot, but he did not expect to be called upon. He had heard nothing from Taya or Dezi, and seen nothing in Taya's notes from her day's shift, to indicate that Garak might be likely to require his services. On the contrary – Garak had had a relatively good day. It had not been without its challenges, but those, Telnorri believed, had been counteracted excellently well with a successful work-session in the Arboretum with Professor O'Brien and Molly.

Most likely his services for Garak today would be precisely what he had told Garak: continue counseling sessions on a voluntary basis only – which, today, would mean not holding a counseling session unless Garak requested one – which Telnorri knew he would not – or one of his caregivers requested Telnorri's services – which was also unlikely. Garak, most likely, would be feeling uncertain; he would be worrying about whether or not Telnorri intended to honor his decision to not mandate counseling sessions – but that was to be expected, and could easily be addressed, if necessary, by Dezi through conversation or, alternatively, another form of distraction. Unless something else, something unrelated to counseling sessions, happened, Garak would almost certainly require no additional assistance.

Telnorri brewed himself a cup of red leaf tea and settled in for an evening of reviewing his notes from prior sessions – beginning with his notes from the very first pertinent session – the one in which Dr. Bashir had met with him, seeking advice on the care of a patient who had been refusing help.

He read the notes in their entirety and nodded, satisfied, when he was finished. The notes were thorough; they clarified a number of examples of counseling techniques that were successful, albeit to varying degrees, with Garak – as well as techniques and topics to avoid with him. Additionally, they addressed conversational topics that were acceptable – and, more importantly, of interest – to Garak, as well as topics that should, for the time being, be avoided unless Garak brought them up, so as to maintain as productive a session as possible.

When he finished, Telnorri checked his chronometer. Garak's time-slot had long since passed – and no one had sought his services.

Telnorri checked his padd, but Dezi had not yet entered notes for the day.

Most likely, he would do so after Garak retired to bed for the night – something that was, in fact, an excellent idea for himself, as well.

Telnorri made sure his computer and work-lights were deactivated, cleaned and put away his cup, and exited his office.

His quarters were not in the same section of the station as his office, or on the same level, but he preferred it that way; the arrangement ensured that he would make the time, no matter how busy he might be, to take at least a few minutes of exercise.

Telnorri entered his quarters and settled in for the night. Unless someone contacted him about an emergency situation, the night was his to do with as he chose.

Telnorri took out a data rod Quark had procured for him, inserted it into his computer, and opened the file: an enigma tale by the popular Cardassian writer Mavrok Drri'va; one he had not yet read. Tonight, he intended to rectify that unfortunate situation – and see how many of the characters' motivations and actions he could figure out from early clues prior to the respective reveals by the author. Telnorri settled himself comfortably in a chair, scrolled past the opening allocations-of-credit to the writer and to others involved in the production of the book, and began to read.

Chapter Text

Julian reviewed the medical report he'd just completed, entered it into the system, and returned to the main room to call his next patient.

No one awaited his services.

Andrej Varga, one of the administrative assistants, was there, inventorying the supply cabinets and explaining the process to Meru Davrel, one of the student nurses.

No one else was there.

“I've got no more patients,” Julian said aloud.

Varga grinned at him. “No, Doctor, and Dr. Chen is on duty now. You're free to go – only … what? Three hours after your shift ended?”

Julian checked his chronometer. “It's been two hours and forty-seven minutes, actually,” he replied. “But I'm not heading out just yet. I've got a few things to finish up first.”

Varga nodded. “Anything I can give you a hand with?”

Julian smiled. “No. Thank you. I've just got a couple of patients' lab results to look over.”

“All right.” Varga turned back to the supply cabinet.

Julian returned to his office and pulled up Garak's records. He should have looked over the results hours ago, but he hadn't had the time.

There had been an explosion and a fire in one of the cargo bays; they'd been relatively minor, fortunately, and no one had been killed, but twelve people had been injured – mostly smoke inhalation and minor burns, but one had received a third-degree burn to approximately 2.75 percent of the right hand, as well as extensive second-degree burns. Julian had managed to reconstruct the injured area, but it would take time to complete the healing process.

He had barely had the time to complete reports, eat, or drink between patients. Fortunately, Dr Chen had been able to come in early, and Nurses Tagana and Jabara had both been on duty, along with two of their students – Meru Davrel and a Human, Aimee Johnson, who had arrived several months earlier, and who had already had training as a field medic back on Earth.

Julian was satisfied with their work. In addition to treating the victims of the explosion and fire, he and his staff had completed all but one of the routine physical exams scheduled for the day – and the one they hadn't completed had been due to the patient calling to reschedule. They had successfully treated a number of minor illnesses and injuries as well, and Julian had successfully performed two relatively complex surgeries: the repair of an infant's cleft lip and palate and the much simpler repair of a torn ACL.

Yet he had not yet evaluated the results of Garak's blood-work or thoroughly examined his neurological scans. Well, get to work, then, he told himself. He opened the file pertaining to the neurological scans first.

The results were excellent. The swelling of the brain adjacent to the resection cavity apparent immediately post-op had completely resolved, and there was no sign of hemorrhage or inflammation. The volume of the cavity had diminished slightly, indicating that the brain had begun to expand slightly into the area in which it must have previously been located – but, essentially, the cavity was filled with cerebro-spinal fluid – exactly as it should have been.

Most likely, then, Garak's headaches resulted from stress, hypoglycemia, the effects of fluctuating levels of triptacederine, or any combination of those causes.

Unfortunately, it was not possible to conclusively determine the cause or causes of his dizziness and light-headedness upon rising simply by evaluating scans of the brain – but there was nothing in any of the scans to suggest a probable cause. It was certainly possible that residual damage to the post-central gyrus was, at the least, a contributing factor. Such damage could adversely effect neurological function – in particular, proprioception and balance, as well as perception of pain, temperature, pressure, and touch. That seemed less likely, though; Garak's balance did not seem to be adversely affected except for the first few seconds to the first minute after rising, and other causes for his headaches and discomfort with the station's temperature seemed more probable.

Julian next pulled up the results of Garak's blood tests.

The CBC was essentially normal, with appropriate levels of RBCs, WBCs, platelets, and hemoglobin. The white blood cell differential seemed atypical at first glance, but, after mentally reviewing what he had seen before in Cardassians, the results were clearly with the range typical of a Cardassian.

The chem panel was also essentially normal. Electrolyte levels were normal, with no indication of dehydration or any sort of chronic metabolic disorder. Garak's blood sugar level was 72 – at the low end of normal for human or Cardassian, despite having consumed juice prior to the exam – suggesting that he had, most likely, been at least mildly hypoglycemic upon waking. Cholesterol levels were excellent, as Julian had expected for someone who did not consume mammalian milk and who, even if he typically consumed some meat or eggs, was not currently doing so. His pre-albumin levels were low, and his albumin levels slightly low. That was somewhat concerning, as it could be indicative of infection, but his white blood cell count was normal; most likely, the lower levels were due to his currently limited intake of calories in general and protein in particular. He was eating grains and legumes, in addition to rokassa juice, fruits, and green salads, but inconsistently – and, clearly, not yet enough.

Because Garak had not allowed him to complete a full physical exam, Julian could not fully rule out cardiovascular problems – but prior exams had given no indication of any such problems. Nor did his vital signs suggest any such problem. His heart rate and respiratory rate had been moderately elevated, and his blood pressure slightly elevated, but under the circumstances, those variations were to be expected.

The most probable cause – of the headaches as well as the dizziness and light-headedness upon rising – was the opioid medication itself. Garak's blood test showed levels of both triptacederine and hydrocortiline and their metabolites commensurate with the doses of both medications reported in Dezi's and Taya's notes – which would have been reassuring, if Garak hadn't known he would be participating in a medical evaluation. He could have deliberately chosen not to take extra medication prior to the exam – even if he regularly took such extra medication.

Julian sighed. The most probable cause was something he could do nothing about. He couldn't just choose to not renew Garak's prescription for triptacederine after he finished his current supply. Garak wasn't ready to stop taking either medication. If he no longer had a prescription, he would exclusively self-medicate – and that would be a problem. Fortunately, not even Telnorri had recommended that he stop the use of triptacederine. He also hadn't mentioned stepping down to a lower level of support; Garak still needed 26/7 support – and not just support with the management of his medications.

But with support, he could start tapering the triptacederine.

Probably.

It might take him a while to make a substantial change in the amount he was taking, but even a slight decrease would help; it would show him that he could take less.

Unless something happened, and he decided it wasn't possible, and decided to take even more than he had been taking.

Enough to overdose again …

No. Even if he did, Dezi or Taya or Jabara would be there. They knew what to do, if that happened. And if for some reason no one was there – if Garak insisted he didn't need caregivers anymore – the computer would alert him if Garak's vital signs changed too much from what they should be.

“And they won't,” Julian told himself.

Garak was fine.

He wasn't taking too much triptacederine.

Not enough to overdose, anyway – but he was taking more than he should.

It was time for him to start to taper it.

And there was absolutely nothing Julian could do to make sure Garak would agree to do so.

All he could do was prepare his report, including his findings and his recommendations, send them to Telnorri ... and tell Garak the results of the scans and blood tests and his recommendations for treatment: to be sure to eat a meal every evening before bed, sit up or stand up slowly if he had been lying down … and begin to taper the triptacederine by either taking less or extending the duration of time between doses.

That was a conversation Julian was not looking forward to at all. He knew he would say something wrong, or fail to explain something in a suitable way, no matter how hard he tried to get it right.

“That doesn't matter, Julian,” he told himself. He had to tell Garak – but he didn't have to tell him now.

He could think about what he would say, write it out, and imagine Garak's response – and perhaps modify the script, if he realized that something was sure to upset or offend him. He couldn't change it completely, of course – he had to tell Garak things he knew Garak would not want to hear – but perhaps he could come up with a way to explain what he had to explain in a way that Garak might be willing to listen to.

Julian nodded. That was exactly what he would do … just as soon as he finished preparing the necessary report and sending it to Telnorri.